THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

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OF  CALIFORNIA 


iHI^l 


[Page  201 


GREETINGS  FROM  THE  PROMENADE 


BY 


BRAXDER  MATTHEWS 


ILLUSTRATED 
BY    W.  T.   SMEDLEY 


NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 
1  898 


BY   BRANDER   MATTHEWS. 


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Copyright,  1897,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 

All  rights  reserved. 


"When  I  came  to  my  chamber  I  writ  doicn  these  minutes;  but 
tvas  at  a  loss  what  instruction  I  should  propose  to  my  readers 
from  the  enumeration  of  so  many  insignificant  matters  and 
occurrences;  and  I  thought  it  of  great  use,  if  they  could  learn 
icith  me  to  keep  their  minds  open  to  gratification,  and  ready  to 
receive  it  from  anytldng  it  meets  with."1 

— STEELE,  in  "The  Spectator,''1  August  11,  1715. 


352 


CONTEXTS 


I.  Ax  INTERVIEW  WITH  Miss  MARLENSPUYK    .       3 
II.  A  LETTER  OF  FAREWELL 19 

III.  A  GLIMPSE  OF  THE  UNDER  WORLD      ...     35 

IV.  A  WALL  STREET  WOOING 53 

V.  A  SPRING  FLOOD  IN  BROADWAY 75 

VI.  THE  VIGIL  OF  MCDOWELL  SUTRO    ....     93 

VII.  AN  IRREPRESSIBLE  CONFLICT 11? 

VIII.  THE  SOLO  ORCHESTRA 133 

IX.  THE  REHEARSAL  OF  THE  XEW  PLAY   .     .     .  153 

X.  A  CANDLE  IN  THE  PLATE 183 

XI.  MEN  AND  WOMEN  AND  HORSES 199 

XII.  IN  THE  WATCHES  OF  THE  XIGHT  221 


ILLFSTKATIOXS 


GREETINGS   FROM    THE    PROMENADE    ....  Frontispiece 

AN   AFTERNOON    AT    HOME Facing  p.    6 

AT  THE  BATTERY "       64 

IN  TRINITY  CHURCH-YARD "        70 

"'WINIFRED:'  HE  CRIED" "        84 

"SHE  SAID  NOTHING  MORE.  BUT  CLOSED  HER 

EYES  " "108 

"THE    PEOPLE    STRUCK    HIM    AS    HAPPIER"         .  "         112 

"THE    AIR    WAS   THICK    AND    HEAVY"       ...  "         134 

EXPLANATIONS "        202 

BETWEEN    TWO   EVENTS      . "        206 

A    PRIZE-WINNER "        216 

"SHE    ALMOST    SHIVERED,  THE    PLACE  SEEMED 

TO  HER  so  CHEERLESS"  "      224 


.  II!  ©  I  ®  E  ©  I  ©  I  ®  II  ©  «  ®  M  •  M  •  Nl  *  HI  S  III  9  I" . 


I 


fi    QJntezview    with, 

(9/6 M j    (9/Oc7  zlendpuyk 


T  was  a  chill  day  early  in  January, 
and  at  four  in  the  afternoon  a  gray 
sky  shut  in  the  city,  like  the  cylin 
drical  background  of  a  cyclorama. 
Xow  and  then  a  wreath  of  steam 
chalked  itself  on  the  slate-colored  horizon  ;  and 
across  the  river,  far  over  to  the  westward,  there 
was  a  splash  of  pink,  sole  evidence  of  the  exist 
ence  of  the  sun,  which  no  one  had  seen  for 
twenty-four  hours. 

As  Miss  Marlenspuyk  turned  the  corner  of  the 
side  street  she  stood  still  for  a  moment,  looking 
down  on  the  long  Eiverside  Drive  and  on  the 
mighty  Hudson  below,  flowing  sluggishly  be 
neath  its  shield  of  ice.  She  had  long  passed 
the  limit  of  threescore  years  and  ten,  and  she 
had  been  an  indefatigable  traveller ;  and  as  she 
gazed,  absorbing  the  noble  beauty  of  the  splen 
did  scene,  unsurpassable  in  any  other  city  she 
had  ever  visited,  she  was  glad  that  she  was  a 
Xew- Yorker  born  and  bred,  and  that  it  was  her 
privilege  to  dwell  where  a  vision  like  this  was  to 
be  had  for  the  asking.  But  while  she  looked 
lovingly  up  and  down  the  solemn  stream  the 
wind  sprang  up  again,  and  fluttered  her  gray 
curls  and  blew  her  wrappings  about  her. 


4  OUTLINES    IN    LOCAL   COLOR 

Two  doors  above  the  corner  where  Miss  Mar- 
lensjmyk  was  standing  a.  striped  awning  stretched 
its  cbzWolutioprs  3iV3i'p$s  ;the  sidewalk  and  np  the 
HTe.gular,, stone,  steps/ and  thrust  itself  into  the 
J&ji'J W{i>T*  Jt  Jt,he;tpp  pf-Mhe  .stoop.  A  pretty  young 
girl,  with  a  pleasantly  plump  figure  and  with  a 
dash  of  gold  in  her  fair  hair,  passed  through 
this  twisting  canvas  tunnel  just  ahead  of  Miss 
Marlenspuyk;  and  when  the  door  of  the  house 
was  opened  to  admit  them  they  entered  together, 
the  old  maid  and  the  young  girl. 

The  house  was  illuminated  as  though  it  were 
already  night ;  the  curtains  were  drawn,  and  the 
lamps,  with  their  fantastically  extravagant  shades 
of  fringed  silk,  were  all  alight.  The  atmosphere 
was  heavy  with  the  perfume  of  flowers,  which 
were  banked  up  high  on  the  mantel-pieces  and 
the  tables,  while  thick  festoons  of  smilax  were 
pendent  from  all  the  gas-fixtures  and  over  all 
the  mirrors.  Palms  stood  in  the  corners  and  in 
the  fireplaces  ;  and  at  one  end  of  the  hall  they 
were  massed  as  a  screen,  through  which  glimpses 
could  be  caught  of  the  bright  uniforms  of  the 
Hungarian  band. 

In  the  front  parlor,  before  a  broad  table  on 
which  there  were  a  dozen  or  more  beautiful  bou 
quets  tied  with  bows  of  ribbon,  and  under  a  bow 
er  of  solid  ropes  of  smilax,  stood  the  lady  of  the 
house  with  the  daughter  she  was  that  afternoon 
introducing  to  society.  The  hostess  was  a  hand 
some,  kindly  woman,  with  scarce  a  gray  hair  in 


AX   INTERVIEW   WITH    MISS    MARLEXSPUYK     5 

her  thick  dark  braids.  The  daughter  was.  like 
her  mother,  kindly  also,  and  also  handsome  ;  she 
was  better  looking,  really,  than  any  of  the  six  or 
seven  pretty  girls  she  had  asked  to  aid  her  in  re 
ceiving  her  mother's  friends  and  acquaintances. 

The  young  woman  who  had  preceded  Miss 
Marlenspuyk  into  the  house  happened  also  to 
precede  her  in  entering  the  parlor.  The  host 
ess,  holding  her  bunch  of  orchids  in  the  left 
hand,  greeted  the  girl  pleasantly,  but  perhaps 
with  a  vague  hint  of  condescension. 

"Miss  Peters,  isn't  it?''  said  the  lady  of  the 
house,  pitching  her  voice  low.  but  with  an  effort, 
as  though  the  habit  had  been  acquired  late  in 
life.  "So  good  of  you  to  come  on  such  a  nasty 
day.  Mildred,  you  know  Miss  Peters  ?" 

Then  the  daughter  stepped  forward  and  smiled 
and  shook  hands  with  Miss  Peters,  thus  leaving 
the  mother  at  liberty  to  greet  Miss  Marlenspuyk  ; 
and  this  time  there  was  no  trace  of  condescen 
sion  in  her  manner,  but  rather  a  faint  suggestion 
of  satisfaction. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Marlenspuyk,'"  she  said,  cordially, 
"  this  is  a  pleasure.  So  good  of  you  to  come  on 
such  a  nasty  day." 

'•'It  did  blow  as  I  came  to  the  top  of  your  hill 
here/"  Miss  Marleuspuyk  returned,  "'and  I'm  not 
as  strong  as  I  was  once  upon  a  time.  I  suppose 
that  few  of  us  are  as  frisky  at  seventy-five  as  we 
were  at  seventeen.'' 

"I  protest,''  said   the    hostess;    "you    don't 


6  OUTLINES    IN    LOCAL   COLOR 

look   a   day   older   now  than  when  I  first   met 
you." 

"That's  not  so  very  long  ago,"  the  old  maid 
answered.  "  I  don't  think  Fve  known  you  more 
than  five  or  ten  years,  have  I  ?  And  five  or  ten 
years  are  nothing  to  me  now.  I  don't  feel  any 
older  than  I  did  half  a  century  ago;  but  as  for  my 
looks — well,  the  least  said  about  them  is  soonest 
mended.  I  never  was  a  good-looker,,  you  know." 

"  How  can  you  say  so  ?"  responded  the  host 
ess,  absently  noting  a  group  of  new-comers  gath 
ering  in  the  door-way.  "Mildred,  you  know 
Miss  Marlenspuyk  ?" 

"Oh  yes,  indeed  I  do,"  the  girl  said,  heartily, 
shaking  hands  with  the  vivacious  old  maid. 

The  young  woman  with  the  touch  of  gold  in 
her  light  hair  was  still  standing  by  Mildred's 
side.  Noting  this,  and  seeing  the  group  of  new 
comers  breaking  from  the  door-way  and  coming 
towards  her,  the  hostess  spoke  hastily  again. 

"  Do  you  know  Miss  Peters,  Miss  Marlen 
spuyk  ?"  she  asked.  "  Well,  at  all  events,  Miss 
Peters  ought  to  know  you." 

Then  she  had  just  time  to  greet  the  group  of 
new-comers  and  to  lower  her  voice  again,  and  to 
tell  them  it  was  so  good  of  them  to  come  on  such 
a  nasty  day. 

The  daughter  was  left  talking  to  Miss  Marlen 
spuyk  and  Miss  Peters,  but  within  a  minute  her 
mother  called  her — "Mildred,  you  know  Mrs. 
Hitchcock  ?" 


AN    AFTERNOON    AT    HOME 


AX    INTERVIEW    WITH    MISS   MABLENSPUYK     7 

As  the  group  of  new-comers  pressed  forward 
the  old  maid  with  the  bright  blue  eyes,  and  the 
young  woman  with  the  pleasantly  plump  figure, 
fell  back  a  little. 

"I've  heard  so  much  of  you,  Miss  Marlen- 
spuyk,  from  my  grandfather/'  began  the  younger 
woman. 

'•'Your  grandfather!"  echoed  the  elder  lady. 
"  Then  your  father  must  be  a  son  of  Bishop 
Peters  ?" 

Little  Miss  Peters  nodded. 

"  Then  your  grandfather  was  a  great  friend  of 
my  younger  brother's/"  Miss  Marlenspuyk  con 
tinued.  "They  went  to  school  together.  I  re 
member  the  first  time  I  saw  the  Bishop — it  must 
be  sixty  years  ago  —  it  was  the  day  he  was  put 
into  trousers  for  the  first  time  !  And  wasn't  he 
proud  of  them  !'' 

Miss  Peters  joined  Miss  Marlenspuyk  in  laugh 
ing  at  this  amusing  memory. 

Then  the  old  maid  asked,  "  Your  father  married 
in  the  South  after  the  war,  didn't  he  ?  Wasn't 
your  mother  from  Atlanta  ?" 

"He  lived  there  till  mother  died  ;  I  was  bo'n 
there,"  said  the  girl.  "I've  been  Xo'th  only 
two  years  now  this  Christmas." 

"'I  don't  suppose  you  found  many  of  your 
grandfather's  friends  left.  Xowadays  people  die 
so  absurdly  young,"  the  old  maid  remarked. 
"  Is  your  father  here  this  afternoon  ?" 

"'Oh  dear  no,'' responded  Miss  Peters;   "he 


8  OUTLINES    IN    LOCAL   COLOR 

has  to  live  in  Southern  California  for  his  health. 
I'm  in  New  Yo'k  all  alone/' 

"  I'm  sorry  for  you,  my  child/'  said  the  elder 
woman,  taking  the  girl's  hand.  "  I've  been  alone 
myself  a  great  deal,  and  I  know  what  it  means. 
But  you  must  do  as  I  did  —  make  friends  with 
yourself,  and  cultivate  a  liking  for  your  own  so 
ciety." 

The  younger  woman  laughed  lightly,  and  an 
swered,  "  But  I  haven't  as  cha'ming  a  companion 
as  you  had/' 

Miss  Marlenspuyk  smiled  back.  "Yes,  you 
have,  my  child.  I'm  not  an  ill-looking  old  wom 
an  now,  I  know,  but  I  was  a  very  plain  girl ;  and 
I  know  it  isn't  good  for  any  one's  character  to  be 
conscious  that  she's  almost  ugly.  But  I  set  out 
to  make  the  best  of  it,  and  I  did.  I  thought  it 
likely  I  should  have  a  good  deal  of  my  own  soci 
ety,  and  so  I  made  friends  with  this  forced  ac 
quaintance.  Now,  I'm  very  good  company  for 
myself.  I'm  rarely  dull,  for  I  find  myself  an 
amusing  companion,  and.  we  have  lots  of  inter 
ests  in  common.  And  if  you  choose  you  can 
also  cultivate  a  friendship  for  yourself.  But  it 
won't  be  as  necessary  for  you  as  for  me,  because 
you  are  a  pretty  girl,  you  see.  That  glint  of 
gold  in  your  fair  hair  is  really  very  fetch 
ing.  And  what  are  you  doing  here  in  New  York 
all  alone  ?" 

"I'm  writing,"  Miss  Peters  replied. 

"Writing?"  echoed  Miss  Marlenspuyk. 


AX    INTERVIEW    WITH    MISS    MARLEXSPUYK     9 

"  My  father's  in  ve'y  bad  health,  as  I  told 
you,"  the  younger  woman  explained,  "and  I 
have  to  support  myself.  So  I  write." 

'•But  I  don't  think  I've  seen  anything  signed 
Peters  in  the  magazines,  have  I  ?"  asked  the  old 
maid. 

(t  Oh,  the  magazines  !"  Miss  Peters  returned— 
"the  magazines  !  I'm  not  old  enough  to  have 
anything  in  the  magazines  yet.  You  have  to 
wait  so  long  for  them  to  publish  an  article,  even 
if  they  do  accept  it.  But  I  get  things  into  the 
weeklies  sometimes.  The  first  time  I  have  a 
piece  printed  that  I  think  you'd  like.  I'll  send  it 
to  you,  if  I  may." 

"I  will  read  it  at  once  and  with  pleasure," 
Miss  Marlenspuyk  declared,  cordially. 

"  I  don't  sign  my  own  name  yet,"  continued 
Miss  Peters;  "'I  use  a  pen-name.  So  perhaps 
you  have  read  something  of  mine  without  know 
ing  it." 

"  Perhaps  I  have,  my  child,"  said  Miss  Marleu- 
spuyk.  "  I  shall  be  on  the  lookout  for  you  now. 
It  must  be  delightful  to  be  able  to  put  your 
thoughts  down  in  black  and  white,  and  send 
them  forth  to  help  make  the  world  brighter  and 
better." 

Little  Miss  Peters  laughed  again,  disclosing  a 
fascinating  dimple. 

"  I  don't  believe  I  shall  ever  write  anything 
that  will  make  the  world  better,"  she  said  ;  "  and 
if  I  did,  I  don't  believe  the  editor  would  take  it. 


10  OUTLINES   IN    LOCAL   COLOR 

I  don't  think  that  is  just  what  editors  are  after 
nowadays — do  you  ?  They're  on  the  lookout  for 
stuff  that  '11  sell  the  paper." 

"Sad  stuff  it  is,  too,,  most  of  it,"  the  old  maid 
declared.  "When  I  was  a  girl  the  newspapers 
were  violent  enough,  and  the  editors  abused  each 
other  like  pickpockets,  and  sometimes  they  called 
each  other  out,  and  sometimes  somebody  else 
horsewhipped  them.  But  the  papers  then  weren't 
as  silly  and  as  cheap  and  as  trivial  as  the  papers 
are  now.  It  seems  as  though  the  editors  to-day 
had  a  profound  contempt  for  their  readers,  and 
thought  anything  was  good  enough  for  them. 
Why,  I  had  a  letter  from  a  newspaper  last  week 
—  a  printed  form  it  was,  too  —  stating  that  they 
were  '  desirous  of  obtaining  full  and  correct  in 
formation  on  Society  Matters,  and  would  appre 
ciate  the  kindness  if  Miss  Marlenspuyk  would 
forward  'to  the  Society  Editor  any  information 
regarding  entertainments  she  may  purpose  giv 
ing  during  the  coming  winter,  and  the  Society 
Editor  will  also  be  happy  to  arrange  for  a  full 
report  when  desired/  Was  there  ever  such  im 
pudence  ?  To  ask  me  to  describe  my  own  din 
ners,  and  to  give  a  list  of  my  guests  !  As  though 
any  lady  would  do  a  thing  like  that !" 

"  There  are  ladies  who  do,"  ventured  Miss 
Peters. 

"  Then  they  are  not  what  you  and  I  would  call 
ladies,  my  child,"  returned  Miss  Marlenspuyk. 

The  face  of  the  Southern  girl  flushed  suddenly, 


AX    INTERVIEW    WITH    MISS    MARLEXSPUYK    11 

and  she  bit  her  lip  in  embarrassment.  Then  she 
mustered  up  courage  to  ask,  "I  suppose  you  do 
not  read  the  Daily  Dial,  Miss  Marlenspuyk  ?'' 

*'•'  I  tried  it  for  a  fortnight  once,"  the  old  maid 
answered.  •'•  They  told  me  it  had  the  most  news, 
and  all  that.  But  I  had  to  give  it  up.  Xobody 
that  I  knew  ever  died  in  the  Dial.  My  friends 
all  died  in  the  Gotham  Gazette" 

"  The  Gazette  has  a  larger  family  circulation,'' 
admitted  the  younger  woman. 

••Besides/'  Miss  Marlenspuyk  continued,  "I 
could  not  stand  the  vulgarity  of  the  Dial.  I'm 
an  old  woman  now,  and  I've  seen  a  great  deal  of 
the  world,  but  the  Dial  was  too  much  for  me. 
It  seemed  to  be  written  down  to  the  taste  of  the 
half-naked  inhabitants  of  an  African  kraal.'' 

•*'0h,"  protested  the  other,  "do  you  really 
think  it  is  as  bad  as  that  ?" 

"Indeed  I  do,"  the  old  maid  affirmed.  "It's 
worse  than  that,  because  the  poor  negroes  wouldn't 
know  better.  And  what  was  most  offensive,  per 
haps,  in  the  Dial  was  the  unwholesome  knowing- 
ness  of  it." 

*'•'  I  see  what  you  mean,"  said  Miss  Peters,  and 
again  the  color  rose  in  her  cheeks. 

•'•'  There  was  that  Lightfoot  divorce  case,'"  Miss 
Marlenspuyk  went  on.  "'  The  way  the  Dial  dwelt 
on  that  was  unspeakable.  I'm  willing  to  allow 
that  Mrs.  Lightfoot  was  not  exactly  a  nice  per 
son  ;  I'll  admit  that  she  may  have  been  divorced 
more  times  than  she  had  been  married — " 


12  OUTLINES   IK   LOCAL   COLOIl 

"  That's  admitting  a  good  deal  !"  said  the 
young  woman,  as  the  elder  paused. 

"  But  it  is  going  altogether  too  far  to  say  that, 
like  Cleopatra,  she  had  the  manners  of  a  kitten 
and  the  morals  of  a  cat — isn't  it  ?" 

Miss  Peters  made  no  response.  Her  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  carpet,  and  her  face  was  redder  than 
ever. 

"Of  course  it  isn't  likely  you  saw  the  article  I 
mean,"  the  old  maid  continued. 

"Yes,"  the  younger  responded,  '-'I  saw  it." 

"Fm  sorry  for  that,"  said  Miss  Marlenspuyk. 
"I  may  be  old-fashioned — I  suppose  I  must  be 
at  my  age— but  I  don't  think  that  is  the  kind  of 
thing  a  nice  girl  like  you  should  read." 

Again  Miss  Peters  made  no  response. 

"I  happen  to  remember  that  phrase,"  Miss 
Marlenspuyk  continued,  "because  the  article 
was  signed  '  Polly  Perkins.'  Very  likely  it  was 
a  man  who  wrote  it,  after  all,  but  it  may  have 
been  a  woman.  And  if  it  was  I  felt  ashamed  for 
her  as  I  read  it.  How  could  one  woman  write  of 
another  in  that  way  ?" 

"  Perhaps  the  writer  was  very  poor,"  pleaded 
Miss  Peters. 

"  That  would  not  be  a  good  reason,  and  it  is  a 
bad  excuse,"  the  old  maid  declared.  "  Of  course 
I  don't  know  what  I  should  do  if  I  were  desper 
ately  poor — one  never  knows.  But  I  think  Fd  live 
on  cold  water  and  a  dry  crust  sooner  than  earn 
my  bread  and  butter  that  way — wouldn't  you  ?" 


AX    INTERVIEW   WITH    MISS   MABLENSPUYK    13 

Miss  Peters  did  not  answer  this  direct  ques 
tion.  For  a  moment  she  said  nothing.  Then 
she  raised  her  head,  and  there  was  a  hint  of 
high  resolve  in  the  emphasis  with  which  she 
said,  "  It  is  a  mean  way  to  make  a  living." 

Before  Miss  Marlenspuyk  could  continue  the 
conversation  she  was  greeted  by  two  ladies  who 
had  just  arrived.  Miss  Peters  drew  back  and 
stood  by  herself  in  a  corner  for  a  few  minutes  as 
the  throng  in  front  of  her  thickened.  She  was 
gazing  straight  before  her,  but  she  was  not  con 
scious  of  the  people  who  encompassed  her  about. 
Then  she  aroused  herself,  and  went  into  the  din 
ing-room  and  had  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  thin  slice 
of  buttered  bread,  rolled  up  and  tied  with  a  tiny 
ribbon.  And  perhaps  fifteen  minutes  later  she 
found  herself  in  front  of  the  hostess. 

She  told  the  hostess  that  she  had  had  such  a 
very  good  time,  that  she  didn't  know  when  she 
had  met  such  very  agreeable  people,  and  that  she 
was  specially  delighted  with  an  old  friend  of 
her  grandfather's,  Miss  Marlenspuyk.  •'•'  Such  a 
very  delightful  old  maid,  with  none  of  the  flavor 
of  desiccated  spinsterhood.  She  does  her  own 
thinking,  too.  She  gave  me  some  of  her  ideas 
about  modern  journalism." 

"  She  is  a  brilliant  conversationalist,"  said 
the  hostess.  "You  might  have  interviewed 
her." 

"  Oh,  she  talked  freely  enough,"  Miss  Peters 
responded.  "  But  I  could  never  write  her  up 


14         OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

properly.  Besides,  Fm  thinking  of  giving  up 
newspaper  wo'k." 

Three  ladies  here  came  towards  the  hostess, 
who  stepped  forward  with  extended  hand,  say 
ing,  "  So  good  of  you  to  come  on  such  a  nasty 
day."  Miss  Peters  availed  herself  of  the  oppor 
tunity,  and  made  her  escape. 

It  might  be  half  an  hour  afterwards  when  Miss 
Marlenspuyk,  having  had  her  cup  of  tea  and  her 
roll  of  bread-and-butter.,  returned  to  the  front 
parlor  in  time  to  overhear  a  bashful  young  man 
take  leave  of  the  hostess,  arid  wish  the  hostess's 
daughter  "many  happy  returns  of  the  day." 

As  it  happened,  there  was  a  momentary  Stagna 
tion  of  the  flood  of  guests  when  Miss  Marlen 
spuyk  went  up  to  say  farewell,  and  she  had  a 
chance  to  congratulate  the  daughter  of  the  house 
on  the  success  of  her  coming-out  tea. 

<f  Then  I  must  tell  you,  Miss  Marlenspuyk," 
said  the  hostess,  "that  you  completely  fasci 
nated  little  Miss  Peters." 

"  She's  a  pretty  little  thing,"  the  old  maid  re 
turned,  "with  excellent  manners.  That  comes 
with  the  blood,  I  suppose  ;  she  told  me  she  was 
a  granddaughter  of  the  Bishop,  you  know.  She 
isn't  like  so  many  of  the  girls  here,  who  take 
what  manners  they  have  out  of  a  book.  They 
get  them  up  overnight,  but  she  was  born  with 
them.  And  she  has  the  final  sign  of  breeding, 
which  is  so  rare  nowadays — she  listens  when  her 
elders  are  talking." 


AX    INTERVIEW    WITH    MISS    MARLEXSPUYK    15 

"  Yes/7  the  hostess  replied,  "  Pauline  Peters 
has  pleasant  manners,  for  all  she  is  working  on 
a  newspaper  now.'' 

"  On  a  newspaper  ?"  repeated  Miss  Marlen- 
spuyk.  "  She  told  me  she  was  writing  for  her 
living,  but  she  didn't  say  she  was  on  a  news 
paper.  " 

"  She  said  something  about  giving  it  up  as 
she  went  out,"  the  hostess  remarked;  "but  I 
shouldn't  think  she  would,  for  she  has  been  do 
ing  very  well.  Some  of  her  articles  have  made 
quite  a  hit.  You  know  she  is  the  e  Polly  Per 
kins'  of  the  Daily  Dial?" 

"Xo,"  said  Miss  Marlenspuyk — "no,  I  didn't 
know  that."' 

(1895) 


•;  •  .:   ;    "  ;  :    •      .•       -      .-      .•..-::?  in  §  in  8  m 


ub  J^cttcz   of  cFavewell 


1 


«, ,-•.  -  ===^^c^^g~^s^^=—^^^f 

•  Ju&v        ffl^^Si        ^-J-H*  J*+ 

VMM^?  %^-  ^  Iw^t  %^.^  t 


lITERE  had  been  a  hesitating  fall  of 
snow  in  the  morning,  but  before 
noon  it  had  turned  to  a  mild  and 
fitful  rain  that  had  finally  modified 
itself  into  a  clinging  mist  as  even 
ing  drew  near.  The  heavy  snow-storm  of  the 
last  week  in  January  had  left  the  streets  high  on 
both  sides  with  banks  that  thawed  swiftly  when 
ever  the  sun  came  out  again,  the  water  running 
from  them  into  the  broad  gutters,  and  then  freez 
ing  hard  at  night,  when  the  cold  wind  swept 
across  the  city.  Xow,  at  nightfall,  after  a  mug 
gy  day,  a  sickening  slush  had  spread  itself  treach 
erously  over  all  the  crossings.  The  shop-girls 
going  home  had  to  pick  their  way  cautiously 
from  corner  to  corner  under  the  iron  pillars 
supporting  the  station  of  the  elevated  railroad. 
Train  followed  train  overhead,  each  close  on  the 
other's  heels  ;  and  clouds  of  steam  swirled  down 
as  the  engines  came  to  a  full  stop  with  a  shrill 
grinding  of  the  brakes.  From  the  skeleton  spans 
of  the  elevated  road  moisture  dripped  on  the 
cable-cars  below,  as  they  rumbled  along  with 
their  bells  clanging  sharply  when  they  neared 
the  crossings.  The  atmosphere  was  thick  with  a 
damp  haze  ;  and  there  was  a  halo  about  every 


20         OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

yellow  globe  in  the  windows  of  the  bar-rooms  at 
the  four  corners  of  the  avenue.  More  frequent, 
as  the  dismal  day  Avore  to  an  end,  was  the  hoarse 
and  lugubrious  tooting  of  the  ferryboats  in  the 
East  Kiver. 

Under  the  steps  of  the  stairs  leading  up  to 
the  aerial  station  of  the  railroad  overhead,  an 
Italian  street  vender  had  wheeled  the  barrow 
whereon  he  proffered  for  sale  bananas  and  ap 
ples  and  nuts.  At  one  end  of  this  stand  was  the 
cylinder  in  which  he  was  roasting  peanuts,  and 
which  he  ground  as  conscientiously  as  though 
he  were  turning  a  hand-organ.  A  scant  quarter 
past  six  o'clock  it  might  have  been,  when  he 
opened  his  fire-box  to  throw  in  a  stick  or  two 
more  of  fuel  and  to  warm  his  stiffened  fingers 
in  the  flame.  The  sudden  red  glare,  glowing 
through  the  drizzle,  caught  the  eye  of  a  middle- 
aged  man  who  was  crossing  the  avenue.  So  in 
secure  was  his  footing  that  this  momentary  re 
laxation  of  his  attention  was  sufficient  cause  for 
a  false  step.  His  feet  slipped  from  under  him 
and  he  fell  flat  on  his  back,  striking  just  below 
the  right  shoulder-blade  upon  a  compact  mass 
of  snow,  hardened  by  the  chilly  breeze,  and  yet 
softer  than  the  stone  pavement. 

The  concussion  knocked  the  breath  out  of 
him ;  and  he  lay  there  for  a  minute  almost, 
gasping  again  and  again,  wholly  unable  to  raise 
himself.  As  he  struggled  to  get  to  his  feet  and 
to  refill  his  lungs  with  air,  he  heard  a  shop-girl 


A    LETTER    OF    FAREWELL  21 

cry,  "Oh,  Liz,  did  you  see  him  fall?  Wasn't 
it  awful  ?"  And  then  he  heard  her  companion 
respond,  "  I  say,  Maine,  you  ask  him  if  he's  hurt 
bad."  Then  two  men  stepped  from  the  sidewalk 
and  lifted  him  to  his  feet,  while  a  boy  picked  up 
his  hat  and  handed  it  to  him. 

"  That's  all  right/"'  said  one  of  the  men; fi  there 
ain't  no  bones  broke,  is  there  ?" 

The  man  who  had  fallen  was  getting  his  breath 
back  slowly.  "  No,"  he  panted,  "'there's  noth 
ing  broke" — and  he  cautiously  moved  his  lirnbs 
to  make  sure. 

"  Ye've  knocked  the  wind  out  of  ye,"  the 
other  man  returned,  "  but  ye'll  get  it  again  in 
a  jiffy.  Come  into  Pat  M'Cann's  here  and  have 
a  drink  :  that  *11  put  the  life  into  ye  again." 

"That's  it,"  agreed  the  man  who  had  been 
helped  to  his  feet — "that's  it;  get  me  into  Pat 
M'Cann's — they  know  me  there — I  can  rest  a  bit 
—  then  I'll  be  all  right  again  in  a  little."  He 
broke  his  sentences  short,  but  even  thus  he  was 
able  to  speak  only  with  effort. 

Taking  him  each  by  one  arm,  the  two  men 
helped  him  into  the  saloon  almost  at  the  door  of 
which  he  had  slipped.  They  led  him  straight 
up  to  the  bar. 

"  Goocl-evenin',  Mr.  Maloue,"  was  the  barkeep 
er's  greeting.  "  The  boss  was  after  askiif  for 
ye."  Then  seeing  the  ashen  face  of  the  new 
comer,  he  added,  "It's  not  well  ye're  lookin'. 
What  can  I  give  ye  ?" 


22         OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

The  man  addressed  as  Malone  was  plainly  at 
tired  ;  his  clothes  were  tidy  but  shiny ;  his  over 
coat  was  thin,  and  it  was  now  thickly  stained 
down  the  back  by  the  slush  into  which  he  had 
fallen.  The  bronze  button  of  the  Grand  Army 
was  in  the  buttonhole  of  his  threadbare  coat. 

He  steadied  himself  by  the  railing  before  the 
bar.  "  Ye  may  give  me — a  little  whiskey,  Tom," 
he  said,  still  gasping,  "and  ask  these  gentlemen 
-what  they'll  take." 

These  gentlemen  joined  him  in  taking  whis 
key.  Then  they  again  assured  him  he  would  be 
all  right  in  a  jiffy  ;  and  with  that  they  left  him 
standing  before  the  bar,  and  went  their  several 
ways. 

There  was  nobody  else  in  the  saloon,  for  the 
moment,  as  it  chanced ;  and  Tom,  the  barkeep 
er,  was  able  to  give  undivided  attention  to  Mr. 
Malone. 

"  It's  sorry  the  boss  '11  be  to  hear  of  yer  fallin' 
here  at  his  door,  an'  he  not  there  to  pick  ye  up," 
he  remarked.  "But  ye'd  better  bide  till  he 
comes  in  again.  Ye'll  not  get  your  breath  back 
so  easy  either  —  I've  been  knocked  out  myself, 
an'  I  know — though  it  wa'n't  no  ice  that  downed 
me." 

<f  So  Pat  M'Cann  wanted  to  see  me,  did  he  ?" 
asked  Malone,  trying  to  draw  a  long  breath  and 
finding  it  impossible,  as  the  bruised  muscles  of 
his  back  refused  to  yield.  <e  Oh — well,  then  I'll 
sit  me  down  here  and  wait." 


A    LETTER   OF   FAREWELL  23 

"There's  yer  old  place  in  the  corner,"  Tom 
responded. 

"Fll  smoke  a  pipe,"  said  Malone,  moving 
away,  "if  I  haven't  broke  it  in  my  fall.  Xo  ; 
I've  got  it  right  enough,"  he  added,  taking  the 
brier-wood  from  the  breast-pocket  of  his  coat. 

As  Malone  was  shuffling  slowly  forward  tow 
ards  a  table  in  a  corner  of  the  saloon,  the  street- 
door  was  pushed  open  and  the  owner  of  the  bar 
room  entered — a  tall  man,  with  a  high  hat  and  a 
fur-trimmed  overcoat.  M'Cann  went  straight  to 
the  bar. 

"Tom,"  he  asked,  "'how  many  of  those  labor- 
tickets  have  I  now  in  the  glass  there  ?'' 

Tom  looked  in  a  tumbler  on  the  top  shelf  of  a 
rack  against  the  wall  behind  him.  "There's 
five  of  'em  left,"  he  answered. 

"Barry  M'Cormack  will  be  in  before  we  close 
and  he'll  ask  ye  for  them,  and  ye'll  give  him 
three  of  them/'  said  the  owner  of  the  saloon, 
"  Tell  him  it's  all  I  have.  An'  if  Jerry  O'Con 
nor  is  here  again  wantin'  me  to  go  bail  for  his 
brother  in  the  Tombs,  ye  must  stand  him  off.  I 
don't  want  to  do  it,  ye  see,  an'  I  don't  want  nei 
ther  to  tell  him  I  don't  want  to." 

"An'  what  will  I  tell  him,  then?"  asked  the 
barkeeper.  "  Hadn't  I  better  say  ye've  gone  to 
Washington  to  see  the  Sinator  ?" 

"'Tell  him  what  you  please,"  responded 
M'Cann,  "but  be  easy  with  him." 

"I'll  do  what  I  can,"  Tom  promised.     "'Ye 


24         OUTLINES  IX  LOCAL  COLOR 

was  askin'  for  Danny  Malone  before  ye  went  out. 
That's  him  now  in  the  corner.  It's  a  bad  fall  he 
had  out  there  on  the  ice.  The  drop  knocked 
him  out — but  there's  no  bones  broken." 

"  What  I've  got  to  tell  him  won't  make  him 
feel  easier,"  returned  M'Cann.  "  But  I'll  get  it 
over  as  soon  as  I  can."  And  with  that  he  crossed 
the  saloon  to  the  farther  corner,,  where  Malone 
had  taken  his  seat  before  a  little  table. 

Looking  up  as  M'Cann  came  towards  him, 
Malone  recognized  the  owner  of  the  saloon  and 
tried  to  rise  to  his  feet;  but  the  suddenness  of  his 
movement  was  swiftly  resented  by  the  strained 
muscles  of  his  back,  and  he  dropped  sharply  on 
the  seat,  his  face  wincing  with  the  pain,  which 
also  took  his  breath  away  again. 

"  Well,  Dan,  old  man,"  said  M'Cann,  '"  so  ye've 
had  a  bad  fall,  sure.  I'm  sorry  for  that.  Don't 
get  up  ! — rest  ycrself  there,  and  brace  up." 

The  tall  frame  of  the  saloon-keeper  towered 
stiffly  beside  the  bent  figure  of  the  man  who  had 
had  the  fall,  and  who  now  looked  up  in  the  face 
of  the  other  in  the  hope  of  seeing  good  news 
written  there. 

"Well,  Pat,"  he  began,  getting  his  breath 
again,  "I've  had  a  fall — but  it's  nothin' — I'll  be 
over  it — in  an  hour  or  two.  I'rn  strong  enough 
yet — for  any  place  ye  can  get  me — 

He  had  fixed  his  gaze  hungrily  on  the  eyes  of 
the  other,  and  he  was  waiting  eagerly  for  a  word 
of  hope. 


A    LETTER   OF    FAREWELL  23 

The  saloon-keeper  lowered  his  glance  and  then 
cleared  his  throat.  lie  had  unbuttoned  his  over 
coat  and  the  large  diamond  in  his  shirt-front  was 
now  exposed. 

Before  he  made  answer  to  this  appeal  the  elder 
man  spoke  again,  overmastered  by  anxiety. 

"Did  ye  see  him  ?"  he  asked. 

•'•'  Yes/"  was  the  response,  "  I  saw  him." 

'•'An*  will  he  do  it  for  ye  ?"  was  the  next  pass 
ing  question. 

"  He'd  do  it  for  me  if  he  could,  but  he  can't," 
returned  M'Canu. 

"He  can't?"  asked  Malone.  "An*  why 
not  ?" 

"  Because  the  appointment  isn't  his.  he  says," 
the  saloon-keeper  explained.  '*  He'd  be  glad  to 
give  the  place  to  a  friend  of  mine  if  he  could, 
he  told  me — but  there's  the  civil-service.  He's 
got  to  follow  that,  he  says,  more  by  token  that 
they  raised  such  a  row  the  last  time  he  tried  to 
beat  the  law." 

•'•'  But  I'm  a  veteran,"  pleaded  the  other,  "  I 
served  my  three  years.  The  civil-service  has  got 
to  count  that,  hasn't  it  ?" 

•'•'  Ye  might  be  on  the  list  this  very  minute, 
and  it  wouldn't  do  any  good,"  the  saloon-keeper 
responded  ;  •'•'  there's  veterans  to  burn  on  the  list 
now  !" 

"  My  post  will  recommend  me,  if  I  ask  'em — 
won't  that  help  ?" 

'•  Nothing   will    help,  he    says,"    M'Cann    ex- 


26  OUTLINES   IN    LOCAL   COLOR 

plained.  "  It  isn't  a  pull  that  '11  do  ye  any  good, 
or  I  could  get  ye  the  job  myself,  couldn't  I  ?" 

"  There  ain't  no  influence  that  '11  help  me, 
then  ?"  was  the  elder  man's  next  question. 

"  As  I'm  tellin'  ye,  I  done  what  I  could,  and  I 
don't  believe  any  man  in  the  district  couldn't  do 
more,"  the  saloon-keeper  answered.  "  He  says 
he'd  rather  give  ye  the  job  than  not,  but  he 
can't.  He's  got  to  take  the  civil-service  man." 

"  Then  there  ain't  no  thin'  else  you  can  do  ?" 
asked  Malone,  hopelessly. 

"I'd  do  anythin'  I  could,"  M'Cann  replied. 
"  But  I  don't  see  nothin'  more-  to  be  done.  That 
dog  won't  fight,  that's  all.  The  jig's  up,  there 
ain't  no  two  ways  about  it.  Of  course,  if  I  hear 
of  anythin'  else  I'll  tell  ye — and  I'll  get  it  for  ye, 
if  I  can.  But  it's  been  a  pretty  cold  winter  for 
the  boys,  so  far ;  you  know  that  well  enough." 

The  other  said  nothing  ;  his  head  had  fallen, 
and  his  eyes  were  staring  vacantly  at  a  box  of 
sand  across  the  saloon. 

The  saloon-keeper  drew  a  breath  of  relief  that 
the  interview  was  over. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  turning  away,  "  I  must  be 
goin'  now.  I've  got  to  see  the  new  man  Avho's 
got  that  contract  for  fillin'  in  up  on  the  Har 
lem." 

"Don't  think  I  ain't  beholden  to  you,  Pat," 
Malone  declared,  raising  his  head  again.  "Ye 
knoAV  I  am  that,  and  I  know  ye've  done  yer  best 
for  me." 


A    LETTER    OF   FAREWELL  27 

"I  did  that,"  M'Cann  admitted,  taking  the 
hand  the  other  held  out ;  "an'  it's  better  I  hope 
I  can  do  some  other  time,  maybe." 

With  that  he  shook  Malone's  hand  gently  and 
left  the  saloon,  calling  to  the  barkeeper  as  he 
passed,  "Til  be  back  in  an  hour,  if  there's  any 
body  wants  me.  An'  make  Danny  Malone  as  com 
fortable  as  ye  can.  It's  a  bad  shock  lie's  had." 

As  the  owner  of  the  saloon  left  it  three  cus 
tomers  came  in,  and  were  served,  and  tossed  off 
their  drinks  standing,  and  went  out  again  ;  and 
the  dank  night-air  was  blown  in  as  they  swung 
open  the  outer  door. 

Then  the  barkeeper  went  down  to  the  corner 
where  Malone  was  sitting,  with  his  pipe  in  his 
fingers,  unlighted  and  unfilled,  gazing  fixedly  at 
vacancy. 

••'Mr.  Malone,"  he  said,  "is  it  better  ye're 
feelin'  now  ?  Have  ye  got  yer  breath  again  ?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  answered  Malone,  rousing  him 
self,  •'•'I'm  better  now."  And  he  tried  to  rise 
again  ;  and  again  he  sat  down  suddenly,  seized 
with  muscular  pangs.  •'I'm  better — but  I'd  best 
— stay  here  a  while  yet — I'm  thinking." 

••'That's  it,"  responded  Tom,  cheerfully,  "get 
a  rest  here.  Let  me  fill  yer  pipe  for  ye.  There 
ain't  nothm'  so  soothiir  as  a  pipe,  I  don't  think. 
An'  I  don't  believe  a  drop  of  old  ale  would  hurt 
ye,  would  it  now  ?" 

Five  minutes  later  Dan  Malone  had  his  pipe 
alight  in  his  mouth  and  a  glass  of  ale  before  him 


28  OUTLINES   IN    LOCAL   COLOR 

on  the  table.  He  drank  the  liquid  slowly,  barely 
a  mouthful  at  a  time  ;  and  he  smoked  irregularly 
also,  scarcely  keeping  the  pipe  alight.  He  sat 
there  by  himself,  limp  on  the  seat,  with  his  last 
hope  washed  out  of  him. 

Half  an  hour  afterwards  the  saloon  happened 
again  to  be  empty,  and  seeing  the  barkeeper  at 
liberty,  Malone  asked  for  the  loan  of  an  inkstand 
and  a  pen,  and  for  a  sheet  of  paper  and  an  en 
velope.  When  the  table  had  been  wiped  off,  and 
these  things  were  placed  on  it  before  him,  he  or 
dered  another  glass  of  ale,  and  he  filled  his  pipe 
again. 

After  he  had  taken  a  sip  or  two  of  the  ale  and 
pulled  four  or  five  times  at  the  pipe,  he  squared 
himself  painfully  to  the  task  of  writing. 

First,  he  addressed  the  envelope  to  "  Hon. 
Terence  O'Donnell,  Assembly,  Albany77;  then  he 
thrust  this  on  one  side  to  dry,  and  began  on  the 
letter  itself.  His  handwriting  was  more  irregu 
lar  than  usual ;  it  had  always  been  cramped  and 
straggling,  but  now  it  was  shaky  also. 

"  FRIEND  TERRY, — Ime  writing  you  thisatPatM'Canns, 
and  its  the  last  letter  you  will  ever  have  from  me.  I  slipped 
at  the  corner  here  and  I  fell  flat  on  my  shoulders  and  I 
knocked  all  the  wind  out  of  me  like  I  was  a  shut  bellows.  I 
aint  got  it  back  yet.  I  will  never  have  any  strength  again. 
Ime  only  fifty,  but  I  had  three  years  in  the  Army  of  the 
Potomac  ;  and  fighting  and  sleeping  in  the  swamp  and  lay 
ing  out  all  day  and  all  night  with  a  wound  in  your  leg — 
thats  fun  you  got  to  pay  for  sooner  or  later,  line  paying 


A    LETTER    OF    FAREWELL  29 

for  mine  now.  Imc  feeling  very  old  to-night  and  old 
men  ain't  no  good.  If  Ide  been  younger  I  doubt  Mary 
would  have  shook  me  for  Jack.  Your  young  yet  Terry 
and  you  got  a  good  wife,  God  Bless  her,  and  youll  thrive, 
for  your  square  and  a  good  friend.  But  you  wont  never 
know  what  it  is  to  have  the  woman  you  loved  shake  you. 
That  hurts  and  it  hurts  just  as  hard  even  if  it  is  your 
brother  she  marries.  Jacks  only  my  half  brother  you 
know  but  it  hurt  all  the  same.  Mary  married  him  and 
lies  never  forgive  me  for  the  wrong  he  did  me  then.  And 
Mary  she  sides  with  him.  Tliats  natural  enough  I  sup- 
p0se_ljes  the  father  of  her  children — but  that  hurts  too. 
Hes  been  doing  me  dirt  all  this  winter.  1  know  it  but  I 
aint  never  let  on.  Now  I  caught  him  setting  the  kids 
against  me  too.  And  theyve  been  friendly,  both  of  Marys 
kids  have.  The  one  named  for  me  is  a  good  boy  and, 
Terry,  if  you  can  give  him  a  helping  hand  any  day  do  it 
for  my  sake.  line  going  to  pawn  my  watch  when  1  leave 
here  to  buy  a  pistol  with.  But  111  put  the  ticket  in  the 
envelope  with  this,  and  some  day  when  your  feeling  flush 
I  wish  you  would  take  it  out  and  give  it  to  little  Danny. 
I  always  meant  him  to  have  it. 

"I  ask  you  now  for  this  is  the  last  letter  I  will  wrile 
you  and  I  wont  never  see  you  again.  Ime  smoking  the 
last  pipe  I  will  ever  smoke  and  Ive  drunk  half  of  my  last 
glass  of  beer.  I  shall  think  of  you  when  I  finish  it,  and 
it  will  be  drinking  your  health  and  Maggies  and  the  baby 
boy  your  expecting. 

"  Ime  going  to  quit.  Ime  tired,  and  I  aint  never  felt  so 
old  as  I  do  since  I  had  that  fall  an  hour  ago.  It  knocked 
more  out  of  me  than  wind.  I  was  thinking  Pat  M'Can 
here  could  get  me  a  job,  but  he  cant  for  fear  of  the  civil 
service.  So  its  time  I  quit  for  good  and  all.  Ime  going 
to  put  up  my  watch  and  get  a  gun.  Then  Ime  going  up 
to  Jacks.  Mary  cant  refuse  me  a  bite.  Its  little  enough 
to  give  me  Ime  thinking  and  its  the  last  time  lie  ask  it 


30        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

too.  The  kids  are  going  out  to  a  party — a  Sunday  school 
party  it  is.  He  see  them  all  once  more,  and  He  say  goocl- 
by  to  them.  After  supper  when  the  kids  are  gone  I  will 
get  out  the  pistol  and  I  will  put  the  bullet  where  it  will 
do  most  good.  May  be  Jack  will  be  sorry  when  its  too 
late  may  be  Mary  will  too.  I  dont  know.  If  they  had 
treated  me  white  first  off,  I  woodent  need  to  buy  no  gun 
now. 

"  Good-by  now,  Terry,  and  God  Bless  you  all.    Its  time 
I  was  going  along  to  Marys  if  I  want  to  see  the  kids  again. 
"  Your  old  friend 

"  DAN  MALONE." 

When  he  had  made  an  end  of  the  letter  he 
had  a  pull  or  two  at  his  pipe,  and  then  he  fin 
ished  his  beer.  He  took  up  what  he  had  written 
and  read  it  over  carefully  to  see  if  he  had  said 
all  that  needed  to  be  said.  Satisfied,  he  folded 
it  and  tucked  it  inside  the  envelope.  After  four 
or  five  whiffs  more  his  pipe  was  smoked  out. 
He  emptied  it  on  the  table  with  a  sharp  rap,  and 
methodically  put  it  back  in  the  breast-pocket  of 
his  coat. 

Then  he  raised  himself  to  his  feet  slowly  and 
carefully,  not  knowing  just  what  bruised  muscle 
he  might  chance  to  stretch  by  an  inadvertent 
gesture.  He  shuffled  across  to  the  bar  and  paid 
for  his  drinks,  and  asked  the  barkeeper  if  there 
was  a  stamp  to  be  had.  As  it  happened,  To;a 
was  able  to  give  him  one,  which  he  stuck  on  the 
corner  of  the  envelope. 

"  Say,  Mr.  Malone,"  asked  the  barkeeper,  "  ye 
don't  Avant  no  tickets  for  the  Lady  Dazzlers'  Co- 


A    LETTER   OF   FAREWELL  31 

terie  Mask  and  Civic  Ball,  to-night,  do  ye  ?  It's 
goin'  to  be  the  most  high-toned  blow-out  they 
ever  had/' 

"  I'm  not  goin'  to  balls  any  more,"  Malone  an 
swered,  '•  I'm  too  old  now. " 

Buttoning  his  thin  overcoat  tightly  across  the 
chest,  he  held  out  his  hand  to  Tom,  to  the  bar 
keeper's  great  surprise. 

"  Good-bye,'*'  he  said.  "  Good-bye.  Maybe  I 
won't  see  you  again,  Tom.'' 

"  Good-bye,  Mr.  Malone,"  Tom  answered. 
"  But  ye'll  be  better  in  the  mornin,''  I'm  thinkin'." 

'•'  Yes,"  the  elder  man  repeated,  •'•'  I'll  be  better 
in  the  mornin'.  Yes :  I'm  goin'  to  make  sure  of 
that,  to-night." 

When  he  opened  the  outer  door  of  the  saloon 
the  damp  moisture  suddenly  filled  his  lungs  and 
he  choked,  but  he  dared  not  cough,  as  the  strained 
muscles  of  his  side  warned  him. 

Two  doors  above  the  saloon  was  a  pawnbro 
ker's  office,  with  the  three  golden  balls  hanging 
over  the  door,  and  with  the  unredeemed  pledges 
offered  for  sale  in  the  broad  window.  Into  this 
store  Malone  made  his  way,  glad  to  get  out  of 
the  dank  air,  if  only  for  a  moment. 

In  perhaps  five  minutes  he  came  forth  holding 
in  his  hand  the  envelope  addressed  to  the  Hon 
orable  Terence  O'Donnell.  He  paused  on  the 
threshold  of  the  pawnshop  and,  by  the  light  of 
the  gas-jets  in  its  window,  he  put  the  pawn- 
ticket  into  the  letter  and  then  closed  it.  In  the 


32  OUTLINES    IN- LOCAL    COLOR 

large  right-hand  pocket  of  his  thin  overcoat 
there  was  something  that  had  not  been  there 
when  he  entered  the  pawnbroker's — something 
irregular  in  shape  :  it  was  the  revolver  he  had 
bought  with  the  money  advanced  on  his  watch. 

He  turned  down  the  avenue  again,  for  there 
was  a  letter-box  on  the  lamp-post  at  the  corner 
occupied  by  M'Cann's  saloon.  The  store  be 
tween  the  pawnbroker's  and  the  barroom  was 
an  undertaker's ;  and  Malone,  walking  slowly 
past,  saw  in  the  window  a  little  coffin,  lined 
with  white  satin. 

"  It  '11  take  a  bigger  one  than  that  for  me/"  he 
said.  "  To-night's  Friday — they'll  be  havin'  the 
funeral  on  Sunday." 

At  the  corner  he  dropped  the  letter  into  the 
box  on  the  lamp-post,  just  as  there  came  a  weird 
shriek  from  an  impatient  tug  in  the  river  far  be 
hind  him.  While  he  was  waiting  for  a  cable-car 
a  lame  newsboy  limped  up  to  him  and  proffered 
the  evening  papers  with  a  beseeching  look.  Ma- 
lone  felt  in  his  pocket  and  found  only  two  coins, 
a  nickel  and  a  quarter.  He  gave  the  quarter  to 
the  newsboy.  Then  he  lifted  himself  painfully 
on  the  rear  platform  of  a  cable-car,  and  handed 
the  nickel  to  the  impatient  conductor.  The  car 
clanged  forward  again  ;  and  soon  the  halo  about 
its  colored  lamp  faded  away  in  the  murky  dis 
tance. 

(1895) 


in©I@i®ffl@B©H@Sl®Sl®lli«  III  £  111  8  Hi  3 


(57?    ylimpde  of  t/ie 
%ndct   World 


was  a  little  dinner  indeed,  a  dinner 
for' eight  only ;  and  it  was  given  one 
evening  in  March,  in  a  spacious  and 
handsome  dwelling  in  Madison  Ave 
nue,  high  up  on  the  slope  of  Murray 
Hill.  The  wide  dining-room  was  at  the  rear  of 
the  house,  and  it  had  a  broad  butlerVpantry  ex 
tending  into  the  yard  behind.  The  large  kitchen 
was  under  the  dining-room  ;  and  under  the  but 
lers-pantry  was  a  room  of  the  same  size  which 
the  servants  used  as  a  parlor.  In  one  corner  of 
this  sitting-room  for  the  domestics  was  the  dumb 
waiter  which  connected  with  the  pantry  above, 
and  in  another  corner  was  a  spiral  staircase 
which  allowed  the  butler  to  descend  swiftly  to 
the  kitchen  in  case  of  emergency.  There  was  a 
table  near  the  window  of  this  servants'  parlor, 
with  a  battered  student-lamp  on  it ;  and  around 
the  table  were  grouped  three  or  four  chairs. 

A  whistle  sounded  gently  in  the  kitchen,  and 
the  Swedish  cook  walked  leisurely  to  the  speak 
ing-tube  and  whistled  back.  Then  she  listened, 
and  heard  the  butler  say,  ' •'  They're  all  here  now ; 
I've  got  the  oysters  on  the  table,  and  I'm  a-goiir 
in  now  to  announce  dinner  to  the  madam.  So 
you  get  that  soup  ready — do  you  hear  ?" 


36  OUTLINES   IN    LOCAL   COLOR 

The  cook  did  not  deign  to  make  any  direct 
reply,  but,  as  she  left  the  speaking -tube  and 
went  back  to  the  range,  she  said,  loud  enough 
to  be  heard  by  the  servants  in  the  sitting-room 
adjoining,  "As  though  I  did  not  know  any 
thing  !  I  will  never  have  another  place  if  a 
black  man  is  butler." 

In  the  room  under  the  pantry  a  sharp,  wiry  boy 
was  grinning.  "  They're  allus  havin'  spats,  ain't 
they,  them  two  ?  If  I  was  Oato  I  wouldn't  let 
no  Dutch  cook  sass  me,  even  if  I  was  a  nigger, 
would  you  ?" 

"  Who  is  this  young  cub,  when  he's  at  'ome  ?" 
asked  the  clean-shaven,  trim-looking  young  Brit 
ish  valet. 

"He's  Tim,"  answered  the  Irish  laundress. 

"I'm  Tim,"  said  the  boy,  indignantly,  "that's 
who  I  am,  and  I'm  as  good  as  you  are,  too,  for 
all  you  belong  to  a  lord !  And  you  needn't  put 
on  no  frills  with  me,  neither,  for  when  I'm  a 
year  or  two  older  I  can  lick  ye  ! — see  ?" 

"Don't  ye  mind  the  boy,  Mr.  Parsons,"  the 
Irish  girl  intervened.  "  He's  no  call  here  at  all, 
at  all.  He'd  run  of  an  errand  belike  in  the  morn- 
iii'  and  does  be  sthrivin'  to  make  himself  useful. 
That's  why  they  kept  him  here  the  night." 

"  I've  got  just  as  good  a  right  here  as  he  has," 
the  boy  declared,  "and  he  doesn't  come  here 
after  you  either,  Maggie— you're  not  his  steady. 
It's  that  French  Elise  he  is  sparkin'." 

"  An'  greatly  I  care  if  he  is  !     Sparkin',  in 


A    GLIMPSE    OF    THE    UXDER    WORLD  37 

truth  !  Bad  cess  to  yer  impidence,"  said  the 
pleasant  -  faced  laundress,  drawing  herself  up. 
"  A  man,  is  it  ?  It's  lashins  and  lavins  of  men  I 
could  have  if  I'd  a  mind." 

Fortunately  the  cook  called  Tim  at  this  junc 
ture  and  gave  him  a  chore  to  do  ;  and  so  left  the 
Irish  girl  and  the  young  Englishman  alone. 

The  valet  had  heen  standing  until  then  with 
his  hat  and  cane  in  his  hand  and  his  overcoat 
across  his  arm.  Xow  he  laid  these  things  on  the 
table  and  took  his  seat  by  the  side  of  the  comely 
Irishwoman. 

"  Mam'zelle,"  he  began,  "is  a  French  girl,  of 
course,  and  I  never  could  abide  a  foreign  lingo. 
Xow  it's  a  pleasure  for  me  to  hear  you  talk,  Miss 
Maggie." 

"Ah,  do  be  aisy,  now,  Mr.  Parsons.''  she  re 
turned,  coquettishly. 

"It's  gospel  truth."  he  rejoined.  "'I  enjoy 
talkhr  to  you.  You  keep  your  eyes  wide  open 
and  can  always  tell  me  what's  goin'  on  !" 

"Troth,  can  I?''  replied  the  laundress.  "'I 
know  which  ind  of  the  egg  the  chicken  -'11  be 
after  chippin' — every  time.'' 

"  Then  tell  me  who's  dinin'  'ere  to-night."  the 
valet  asked. 

Before  she  could  answer  the  whistle  sounded 
faintly  again,  and  the  cook  immediately  brought 
in  the  green-turtle  soup  in  the  handsome  silver 
tureen,  and  sent  it  up  on  the  dumb-waiter. 
Then  she  returned  at  once  to  the  kitchen. 


OUTLINES   IN    LOCAL   COLOR 


It's  not  a  big  dinner/''  the  Irishwoman  ex 
plained.  "  There's  only  eight  of  them.  There's 
us  three,  isn't  there  ? — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Van  Allen 
and  Miss  Ethel.  Then  there's  your  lord — and 
Fll  go  bail  it's  Miss  Ethel  he's  after  now  ?  He'll 
be  the  lucky  man  if  he  gets  her,  too ;  it's  a  sweet 
angel  she  is." 

"  She  won't  be  so  unlucky  to  'ave  'im  neither," 
the  Englishman  returned,  "mark  that  !  She'll 
be  Lady  Stanyhurst,  won't  she  ?  And  my  lord 
is  a  fine  figure  of  a  man,  too  1" 

"  Sure  it  isn't  under  the  skin  of  any  man  that 
ever  stepped  to  be  worthy  the  likes  of  Miss 
Ethel  !"  said  Maggie,  looking  at  Parsons  out  of 
the  corner  of  her  eye. 

"  There  ain't  any  girl  in  the  States  'ere  that 
wouldn't  be  proud  to  'ave  my  lord,"  the  valet 
retorted.  "  There's  lots  of  'em  settin'  their  caps 
for  'im  now.  He  can  'ave  'is  pick,  'e  can." 

"  The  sorra  cap  Miss  Ethel  '11  set  for  him  or 
any  man,"  the  laundress  declared.  "  The  boy 
that  wants  her  '11  have  to  court  her." 

"  I  'ave  reason  to  believe  that  the  marriage  is 
arranged/'  Parsons  asserted.  "  I  'ope — "  then 
he  paused,  and  with  an  effort  he  went  on  again  : 
"  I  hope  that  'er  father  is  a  warm  man  ?  He's 
good  to  give  the  girl  a  plum  at  least,  I  'ope  ? 
We  couldn't  throw  ourselves  away  on  a  girl  who 
'adii't  a  plum,  you  know." 

"An'  what  might  a  plum  be  ?"  asked  Maggie. 

"A  plum,"  the  young  Englishman  explained, 


A    GLIMPSE    OF   THE    UXDER   WORLD  39 

"  is  a  'undred  thousand  pounds — 'alf  a  million 
dollars,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  It's  a  whole  million  Mr.  Van  Allen  can  give 
Miss  Ethel/''  Maggie  said,  "  and  more,  too,  if 
he  wanted  to.  By  the  same  token,  they  do  be 
after  tellin'  me  he  has  one  big  building  down 
town  somewhere  —  I  don't  know  —  where  the 
tenants  pay  him  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  a 
year ;  an'  they  pay  it,  too,  regular,  an'  nivver  an 
eviction  from  one  year's  end  to  the  other." 

The  whistle  shrilled  out  again,  and  the  cook 
made  haste  to  place  on  the  dumb-waiter  the  dish 
containing  the  fillets  of  sea-bass. 

A  few  minutes  later  Mile.  Elise,  the  French 
maid  of  Miss  Van  Allen,  entered  the  servants' 
sitting-room,  and  was  cordially  greeted  bv  Mr. 
Parsons.  It  appeared  that  the  Frenchwoman 
had  been  detained  in  Mrs.  Van  Allen's  room  re 
lieving  the  guests  of  their  wraps. 

"  Zat  ole  maid,  Miss  Marlenspuyk — what  devil 
of  name  it  is — "  said  Elise,  "  she  is  a  true  grande 
dame  ;  but  that  Mistress  Playfair — oh  !  I  can 
not  suffer  her  !  She  is — how  you  say  —  made 
up  ?  stuck  up  ?" 

fe  It's  both  stuck  up  and  med  up  she  is,"  the 
Irish  laundress  declared.  "  She's  that  painted 
her  own  mother  wouldn't  know  her.  An'  as  for 
stuck  up,  her  manners  is  that  bad  there  isn't 
none  of  her  girls  will  stay  in  her  house  the 
second  month ;  they  gets  their  bit  of  money 
and  they  goes.  Sure  my  brother  is  coach- 


40         OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

man  there,  and  it's  seven  years  he's  had  the 
place." 

"  How  can  he  rest  zere,"  asked  the  French 
maid,  "  if  she  is  so  stuck  up  ?" 

"Ah,  my  brother  is  a  steady  lad,  and  they  get 
on  very  well,"  Maggie  returned.  "  He  knows 
his  place,  and  she  knows  her  place,  too.  She 
never  says  nothin'  to  him,  and  he  never  says 
nothin'  to  her.  An'  it's  a  good  job  he  has,  an' 
he  don't  mean  to  let  go  of  it.  He  keeps  a  still 
tongue  in  his  head,  Danny  does  ;  but  there's 
months  when,  with  his  wages  and  with  his 
board-wages  and  with  what  he  makes  on  the 
feed,  the  place  is  worth  more  than  a  hundred 
dollars  to  him." 

"It's  as  much  as  a  man's  place  is  worth  some 
times  to  accept  the  commission  you're  entitled 
to,"  the  valet  remarked. 

"Ah,  but  Danny's  the  boy  !"  the  laundress  re 
sponded,  shrewdly.  "It's  too  much  he  knows 
about  Mrs.  Playfair  for  him  to  lose  the  job  ; 
trust  him  for  that  !  As  long  as  he  wants  that 
place  he  can  have  it  an'  welcome  ;  she  won't 
never  say  nothin'  to  him." 

"Is  she  a  widow  or  is  she  divorced,  zis  Mis 
tress  Playfair  ?"  asked  the  French  maid. 

"  She's  the  wan  an'  the  other,"  said  the  laun 
dress,  with  a  laugh.  "  Mr.  Playfair,  he  took  and 
died  a  week  after  the  trial,  barrin'  a  day." 

"  What's  this  I  'ear  about  your  Mr.  Van 
Allen  and  Mrs.  Playfair  ?"  Parsons  inquired. 


A    GLIMPSE    OF    THE    UNDER    WORLD  41 

"Is    there    anything    between    them,    do    you 
think  ?" 

The  whistle  was  heard  again,  and  the  cook 
passed  before  them  with  a  saddle  of  mutton  : 
and  for  the  moment  the  valet's  question  re 
mained  unanswered. 

••Who  is  it  they  have  to  dinner,  after  all  ?"  the 
laundress  inquired.  "There's  our  three  and 
your  lord  and  Miss  Marlenspuyk  and  Mrs.  Play- 
f air_but  that's  sure  only  six.  There  was  to  be 
eight  all  out,  I'm  thinkin'.  It's  two  more  men 
they  must  have/'' 

"I  heard  his  lordship  say  that  he  expected  to 
meet  the  Lord  Bishop  of  Tuxedo/'''  the  English 
man  remarked. 

••And  madame  say  zat  ze  judge  would  be 
here."  said  the  French  maid. 

"Judge  Gillespie?"  asked  the  valet,  with  a 
certain  interest. 

"Yes."  the  Frenchwoman  answered,  "'the 
Judge  Gillespie.  What  does  that  make  to  you 
zat  you  jump  like  zat  ?" 

"*0h,  nothin',  nothiiv  at  all,"  returned  Par 
sons,  settling  himself  back  in  his  chair  with  a 
snigger. 

"Out  with  it  !"  cried  the  Irish  girl.  '-'Don't 
be  grinnin'  all  night  there  like  a  stuck  pig ! 
Out  with  it  —  I  see  it's  on  the  end  of  your 
tongue." 

"But  yes — but  yes,"  urged  the  maid,  "what 
is  it  you  have  to  laugh  ?" 


42         OUTLINES  IK  LOCAL  COLOR 

"  Keally,"  the  valet  began,  "  I  don't  know  that 
I  ought  to  say  anything  'ere  in  this  'ouse,  you 
know  —  house,  I  mean.  But  I  'ave  been  told 
that  this  'ere  Judge  Gillespie  is  a  very  great 
friend  of  Mrs.  Van  Allen's.  Mind,  I  don't  say 
there's  anything  wrong  in  it,  you  know.  I  only 
tell  you  what  I  'ave  'eard  tell  myself  in  society 
'ere  and  there.  You  see  this  ain't  the  only  'ouse 
I  visit  in  New  York,  not  by  a  long  shot  it  ain't. 
And  knowin'  I  visit  'ere,  why,  naturally,  you  see, 
my  other  friends  tell  me  the  news,  you  know  — 
the  news  about  the  goin's  on  'ere,  you  know." 

The  Irish  laundress  and  the  French  maid 
looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment,  and  then 
both  laughed. 

"It's  not  outside  they  get  the  first  news,  is 
it  ?"  the  laundress  inquired. 

Apparently  the  maid  was  also  going  to  make  a 
remark,  but  she  changed  her  mind  as  the  cook 
again  came  to  the  dumb-waiter  with  the  dish  of 
little  silver  saucepans  containing  terrapin. 

The  valet  was  somewhat  puzzled  by  the  failure 
of  his  two  attempts  to  open  the  family  cupboard 
of  the  host  and  hostess  for  an  inspection  of  the 
skeletons  it  might  contain. 

"  I  don't  know  how  she  has  them  seated  at  the 
table,"  Maggie  declared. 

"Of  course,  his  lordship  took  her  in,"  the 
Englishman  declared.  "A  earl  'as  precedence 
of  a  judge  or  a  bishop." 

"I'd  like  to  have  a  look  at  that  lordship  of 


A    GLIMPSE    OF   THE    UNDER    WORLD  43 

yours,"  the  Irishwoman  said,  as  she  rose  to  her 
feet.  "  I'll  slip  up  the  stairs  there,  and  maybe  I 
can  get  a  glimpse  of  "em  through  the  door  an' 
no  one  a  ha'p'orth  the  wiser.  Is  it  a  young  man 
your  lordship  is  ?" 

••His  lordship  is  a  young  man  yet/'7  the  valet 
replied. 

"I  know  what  that  means/'  the  laundress  an 
swered.  "  If  he's  a  young  man  yet,  I'll  go  bail  he 
hasn't  a  hair  between  him  an'  heaven.  An'  to 
think  that  our  Miss  Ethel  here  is  to  take  up 
with  a  poor  hairless  cratur  like  that.  Well, 
well,  there's  no  accounthv  for  tastes  !  Maybe  I'll 
marry  a  Dutchman  myself  one  of  these  days." 

And  with  that  she  began  to  climb  the  spiral 
staircase  in  the  corner  of  the  room. 

'•'What  sort  of  a  man  is  he.  your  milord?'' 
asked  the  Frenchwoman. 

•'•'He  is  not  a  bad  sort  at  all,"  the  Englishman 
answered.  ^  Your  young  lady  might  do  worse 
than  'ave  ?im,  you  know — have  him.  I  mean.  I 
won't  say  but  that  Vs  been  a  bit  fast  in  'is  time, 
you  know  ;  but  that's  nothin'  to  her  now.  is  it  ? 
'E's  sowed  his  wild  oats  long  ago,  and  Vs  ready 
to  marry  now  and  settle  down." 

"He  is  zen — defrcucJii — how  you  say — worn? 
your  milord  ?"  the  Frenchwoman  went  on. 
"And  mademoiselle  is  an  angel  of  candor.  Zey 
would  give  her  le  bon  Dieu  wizout  confession." 

••'Angel  or  no  angel,"  returned  Mr.  Parsons, 
"  there  isn't  any  better  catch  in  the  three  king- 


44         OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

cloms  than  'is  lordship  to-day.  'E's  a  earl,  isn't 
'c  ?  And  then  there's  the  castle  !  Your  young 
lady  wouldn't  be  in  a  'urry  to  let  'im  go  if  she'd 
only  seen  the  castle,  now  !" 

"Mademoiselle  has  seen  ze  castle/'  was  the 
answer. 

"  Well,  I'll  he  damned  !"  said  the  valet. 

"  But  yes/'  the  French  maid  explained.  "Last 
summer,  in  London,  your  milord  was  presented  to 
mademoiselle,  and  he  began  to  make  his  court. 
Fifteen  days  after,  when  we  were  at  Leamington, 
mademoiselle  and  I,  we  go  see  your  castle." 

"It's  a  tip-topper  now,  ain't  it?"  he  asked. 
"  There's  sometimes  twenty  and  thirty  of  us  in 
the  servants"all,  and  there's  goin's  on,  and  larks, 
and  all  manner  of  sport.  If  this  match  comes 
off,  now,  between  'is  lordship  and  your  young 
lady,  will  you  come  with  her  or  stay  here  with 
her  mother  ?" 

"Never  of  the  life  do  I  quit  mademoiselle," 
the  Frenchwoman  responded. 

"  Then  I'll  'ope  to  'ave  the  honor  of  introducin' 
you  into  the  best  society  at  the  castle  whenever 
you  come  over/'  urged  Mr.  Parsons. 

The  Irish  laundress  now  began  to  descend  the 
spiral  stairs.  The  cook  also  came  into  the  room 
and  went  towards  the  dumb-waiter,  carrying  a 
silver  platter,  on  which  shook  and  shone  a  dozen 
little  jellied  cones. 

"An'  what  might  that  be  in  thrimbles  like 
that  ?"  asked  the  Irishwoman,  with  curiosity. 


A    GLIMPSE    OF   THE    UXDEH   WORLD  45 

"  Pdtede  foie  yras  en  aspic/'  the  cook  respond 
ed,  curtly,  sending  up  the  dish  and  then  return 
ing  silently  to  the  kitchen. 

"  Patti's  photograph  ?"  repeated  the  laundress. 
"  Do  ye  mind  the  impidence  of  her,  telliir  me  a 
lie  like  that  ?" 

The  English  valet  looked  at  the  French  maid 

and  laughed.    Then  he  explained,  patronizingly  : 

•'•'  Patty  de  four  grass,  as  we  call  it  in  French— 

not  Patti's  photograph.     It's  a  delicacy,  and  it's 

made  of  goose  livers.'' 

"Then  why  couldn't  that  Dutch  cook  have 
said  so  ?"  tlie  laundress  asked,  indignantly. 
"  I've  as  good  a  right  to  know  about  a  goose  as 
ever  she  "has.  I  misdoubt  she  was  that  poor 
where  she  came  from  they  had  never  the  grass 
of  a  goose  to  their  cabin." 

"Did  you  see  'is  lordship  ?"  asked  the  valet. 
"  I  did  that,"  the  Irish  girl  replied,  "  an7  what 
did  I  tell  you  about  him  ?  His  head  has  grown 
through  his  hair  !  There's  been  good  and  bad 
harvests  since  he  was  young.  I'm  thinkin'— and 
it's  mighty  quare  lie  looks  about  his  eyes,  too. 
It  '11  be  a  poor  day  for  Miss  Ethel  when  she  mar 
ries  a  bald-headed  ould  runt  like  that,  for  all  he's 
a  lord  '." 

"  Oh,  I  say.  Miss  Maggie  ;  you  must  not  speak 
so  disrespectful  of  his  lordship,'"  Parsons  insist 
ed;  "  really,  now,  you  mustn't.'" 

"'It's  that  Mrs.  Playfair  'ud  be  the  match  for 
him,  I'm  thinkin',"  said  Maggie.  "It's  a  bold- 


46         OUTLINES  IK  LOCAL  COLOR 

faced  creature  she  is,  an'  no  more  clothes  on  her 
than  ain't  decent  anyway.  And  then,  how  she 
looked  at  Mr.  Van  Allen  and  then  at  the  bishop ; 
and  how  she  talked — I'd  no  patience  with  her. 
Do  ye  mind  what  it  was  I  heard  her  say  now  ?" 

"  How  could  we  know  what  you  'card  her 
say  ?"  the  valet  responded,  impatiently. 

"Sure,  amn't  I  tellin'  ye  ?"  the  Irish  girl  re 
turned.  "She  was  talkin'  to  the  bishop,  and 
she  says,  says  she.  '  The  judge  is  a  better  man 
than  you,  bishop,'  she  says,  'leastwise  he  makes 
more  people  happy,'  she  says,  '  How  so  ?'  says 
the  bishop,  says  he.  '  This  way,'  she  says ; '  when 
you  marry  a  couple  you  make  two  people  happy,' 
she  says,  'an'  when  the  judge  divorces  a  couple 
he  makes  four  people  happy,'  she  says.  Miss 
Ethel  and  the  old  lady  with  the  white  hair,  they 
said  nothin',  but  the  rest  of  them  laughed." 

What  further  fragments  of  the  conversation 
at  the  dinner-table  up-stairs  Maggie  had  been 
able  to  gather  during  her  brief  visit  to  the  but- 
ler's-pantry  could  not  then  be  made  known  to 
the  other  domestics,  for  Tim  came  slouching 
into  the  sitting-room. 

"Say,  Maggie,"  he  began,  "didn't  you  hear 
that  ring  at  the  bell  ?  That's  your  feller — I  seen 
him.  He's  out  at  the  gate  now." 

"Is  it  the  letter -man  you  mean?"  asked 
Maggie,  adjusting  her  hair  as  she  passed  tfre 
looking-glass. 

"Ah,   go    .on,"    returned    Tim,   impatiently, 


A    GLIMPSE   OF   THE    L'KDER   WORLD  47 

"  what  fell  are  you  givin'  us  ?  How  many 
fellers  do  you  want,  say  ?" 

After  Maggie  had  chased  Tim  out  of  the  room, 
the  Swedish  cook  went  to  the  dumb-waiter  once 
more  to  send  up  the  four  smoking  canvas-backs 
that  lay  luxuriously  on  their  cushions  of  fried 
hominy. 

The  French  maid  and  the  English  valet  con 
tinued  to  chat,  discussing  chiefly  the  personal 
peculiarities  of  the  members  of  the  households 
in  which  they  had  served.  His  former  masters 
Parsons  was  willing  enough  to  find  fault  with, 
but  Lord  Stanyhurst  he  seemed  to  think  it  a 
point  of  honor  to  defend.  Mrs.  Van  Allen  the 
Frenchwoman  had  no  high  opinion  of,  nor  of 
Mr.  Kortright  Van  Allen  ;  but  of  their  daughter, 
Miss  Ethel  Van  Allen,  she  could  not  say  too 
much  in  praise. 

"  I  told  that  wild  Irish  girl  that  the  marriage 
was  arranged/'  said  Parsons,  "and  I'm  sure  I 
'ope  so  with  all  my  heart,  for  'is  lordship  needs 
money  badly — I  don't  mind  tellin'  you,  mam'- 
zelle,  'e  'asu't  paid  me  my  wages  this  six  months, 
not  that  I'd  demean  myself  by  askin'  for  them. 
But  is  it  really  settled,  after  all  ?— that's  what 
I'd  like  to  know." 

"I  zink  so,"  the  Frenchwoman  responded; 
"you  see,  mademoiselle  is  not  happy  here.  Mon 
sieur  and  madame  are  at  drawn  knives.  Zey 
have  not  spoken  since  two  years." 

"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Van  Allen  don't  speak  to  each 


48         OUTLINES  IK  LOCAL  COLOK 

other  ?"  asked  Parsons,  with  great  interest.  "  But 
they  must  be  speaking  to  each  other  there  at 
dinner  now. " 

"  Oh,  at  dinner,  yes,"  the  French  maid  ex 
plained;  "in  the  world,  yes,  zey  talk  zemselves. 
But  at  ze  house,  never  a  word.  Zat  is  so  sad  for 
mademoiselle,  is  it  not  ?  It  is  not  remarkable 
zat  she  marry  herself  with  anybody  to  get  out  of 
ze  house." 

"  Oh,  ho  !"  rejoined  the  valet,  "I  see,  I  see  ! 
But  if  that's  the  way  she's  been  brought  up, 
you  know,  I  don't  believe  she  will  'it  it  off  with 
'is  lordship." 

"If  he  makes  her  not  happy,  your  milord — 
began  the  maid,  forcibly,  "but   he  must.     He 
must  render  her  happy,  for  she  will  have  nobody 
to  go  to  after  ze  marriage  except  her  husband." 

"Whatever  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked 
Parsons,  a  little  suspiciously. 

"I  know  what  I  mean,"  she  responded. 
"  Monsieur  and  madame  only  attend  till  made 
moiselle  is  married,  and  zen  zey  are  divorced. 
Zey  don't  tell  me  zat,  no — but  I  know." 

"Yes,"  the  valet  admitted,  "it  ain't  so  very 
'ard  to  find  out  a  thing  like  that." 

"  And  I  know  more  yet,"  added  the  French 
maid.  "I  am  not  blind,  am  I  ?  I  can  see  that 
two  and  two  make  four,  is  it  not  ?  Zen,  I  tell 
you  zat  after  ze  marriage  of  mademoiselle, 
monsieur  and  madame  are  divorced,  zat  is  one 
zing.  Zen  madame  will  marry  zat  Judge  Gil- 


A  GLIMPSE    OF    THE    UNDER    WORLD  49 

lespie,  and  monsieur  will  marry  zat  Madame 
Playfair — you  see  !' 

"  That  would  be  a  rum  start,  now,  wouldn't 
it  ?"  was  the  only  comment  of  Parsons. 

At  this  moment  the  portly  form  of  Cato,  the 
black  butler,  was  seen  descending  the  staircase 
in  the  corner  of  the  room. 

As  soon  as  the  aged  negro's  white  head  was 
visible  he  paused,  and  leaning  over  the  light 
iron  railing  he  addressed  himself  to  the  young 
Englishman. 

"Misto' Parsons,"  he  said,  solemnly,  "yo'lord 
knows  a  good  thing  when  he  gets  it,  sail  !  He 
tasted  my  celery  salad,  and  he  said  to  Mrs.  Van 
Allen  that  he  hadn't  never  eaten  no  better  salad 
than  that,  sah,  and  I  don't  believe  he  never  did, 
neither  !" 

So  saying  he  slowly  withdrew  lip-stairs  again, 
as  the  cook  advanced  to  the  dumb-waiter  carry 
ing  the  Xesselrode  pudding. 

(1S96) 


l/K^X^^i 


.in  &  .1  ®  B  e  a:  ®  a  g  i:  -f-  »  ®  •  ^  m  ®  in  8  in  s  in  e  IIL 


Cl    Wall 

Qn 

Wooing 


T  had  poured  all  the  night  before, 
and  even  now,  at  three  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon,  the  air  had  the  washed 
clearness  that  follows  a  warm  rain. 
Fortunately  the  sun  had  shone  forth 
before  the  church  bells  summoned  the  worship 
pers  to  kneel  in  front  of  the  marble  altars,  banked 
high  with  scentless  white  flowers.  It  was  Easter, 
and  the  first  of  April  also  ;  and,  furthermore,  the 
first  warm  Sunday  of  the  spring.  So  the  young 
men  and  maidens  who  clustered  about  the  doors 
of  the  churches  that  afternoon  were  decked  out 
in  fresh  apparel— the  young  men  in  light  over 
coats,  and  the  maidens  in  all  the  bravery  of  their 
new  bonnets. 

ILL  the  corner  of  one  of  the  cable-cars  which 
were  sliding  along  under  the  skeleton  of  the 
elevated  railroad  there  sat  a  young  man  looking 
at  his  neighbors  with  begrudging  interest,  and 
pulling  at  the  ends  of  an  aggressive  black  mus 
tache.  Filson  Shelby  was  not  yet  at  home  in 
the  great  city,  and  he  knew  it.  and  he  silently 
protested  against  it.  He  was  forever  on  the 
watch  for  a  chance  to  resent  the  complacent 
attitude  of  city  folks  towards  country  people. 
Yet  the  metropolis  had  so  far  conquered  him 


54  OUTLINES   IN    LOCAL   COLOR 

that  his  hat  and  his  shoes  and  his  clothes  were 
city  made. 

It  was  six  months  now  since  the  young  South- 
westerner  had  left  his  native  village,  and  already 
he  thought  that  he  knew  New  York  pretty  well, 
from  Harlem  where  he  boarded  to  Wall  Street 
where  he  worked.  He  was  sure  that  he  was  well 
informed  as  to  the  customs  of  New-Yorkers,  al 
though  the  New-Yorkers  changed  their  customs 
so  rapidly  that  it  was  not  so  easy  to  be  certain 
about  this. 

There  were  white  flowers  blossoming  in  the 
parlor  windows  of  many  of  the  houses  in  Fifty- 
third  Street,  through  which  the  cable -car  was 
passing,  and  as  the  car  clanged  around  the  curve 
and  started  on  its  way  down  Seventh  Avenue  it 
grazed  the  tail  of  a  florist's  wagon,  the  box  of 
which  was  piled  high  with  palms.  Filson  Shelby 
was  aware  that  it  was  now  a  practice  of  New-York 
ers  to  give  one  another  potted  plants  at  Easter. 

He  had  been  told  also  that  the  habit  no  longer 
obtained  of  paying  calls  on  Sunday  afternoon  ; 
and  none  the  less  was  he  on  his  way  down  to 
Wall  Street  to  take  out  for  a  walk  the  one  girl 
in  New  York  who  seemed  to  him  to  have  the  un 
pretending  simplicity  of  the  girls  of  the  South 
west.  What  did  he  care,  he  asked  himself,  wheth 
er  or  not  it  was  fashionable  to  call  on  girls  Sunday 
afternoon  ?  What  right  had  the  New-Yorkers, 
anyhow,  to  assume  that  their  way  of  doing  things 
was  the  only  right  and  proper  way  ? 


A   WALL   STREET    WOOING  55 

Having  propounded  these  questions  to  him 
self,  he  answered  them  with  a  smile,  for  he  had 
a  saving  sense  of  humor,  and  even  a  tendency 
towards  self-analysis,  and  he  had  long  ago  de 
tected  his  own  pride  in  living  in  Xew  York.  In 
his  earliest  letters  home  he  had  expressed  his 
delight  in  that  he  was  now  at  the  headquarters 
of  the  whole  country;  and  he  had  written  these 
letters  on  broad  sheets  of  paper  bought  in  the  Ger 
man  quarter,  and  adorned  with  outline  views  of 
the  sights  of  the  city,  picked  out  in  the  primary 
colors.  He  had  sent  missives  thus  decorated 
not  only  to  his  family  and  to  his  old  friends,  but 
even  to  mere  acquaintances  of  his  boyhood,  for 
whom  he  cared  little  or  nothing,  except  that 
they  should  know  him  to  be  settled  in  the  me 
tropolis.  He  could  not  but  suspect  that  if  he 
were  now  to  go  back  to  the  village  of  his  birth, 
he  would  seem  as  stuck-up  to  the  natives  as  the 
Xew-Yorkers  had  seemed  to  him  the  first  few 
weeks  he  was  in  the  city. 

The  car  slipped  down  Seventh  Avenue,  and 
stumbled  into  Broadway,  and  sped  along  some 
times  with  a  smooth  swiftness  and  again  with  a 
jerky  hesitation.  Gayly  dressed  family  groups 
got  on  and  got  off.  and  the  car  had  almost  emp 
tied  itself  by  the  time  it  came  to  Madison  Square. 
Filson  Shelby  was  greatl}'  interested  in  the  man 
ners  of  two  handsomely  gowned  girls  who  sat 
opposite  to  him,  and  who  did  not  know  each 
other  very  well.  It  struck  him  that  one  of  them 


56  OUTLINES   Itf    LOCAL   COLOR 

— the  prettier  of  the  two,  as  it  happened — was 
a  little  uneasy  in  the  other's  company,  and  yet 
pleased  to  be  seen  with  her.  To  his  regret,  hoth 
of  them  alighted  at  Grace  Church,  leaving  only 
half  a  dozen  people  in  the  long  car  as  it  started 
again  on  its  journey  down-town. 

He  set  down  the  plainer  of  the  two  as  a  mem 
ber  of  the  strange  society  known  as  the  "Four 
Hundred/'  about  which  he  had  heard  so  much 
since  he  had  been  reading  the  Sunday  papers. 
If  he  were  right  in  this  ascription,  and  if  he 
were  to  judge  by  this  sample,  the  girls  of  the 
Four  Hundred  were  not  a  very  good-looking  lot, 
for  all  they  were  so  stylishly  dressed.  It  struck 
him,  too,  that  this  girl's  manners  were  somehow 
offensive,  although  he  could  not  state  precisely 
where  the  offence  lay. 

He  was  glad  that  the  one  girl  in  New  York 
whom  he  knew  at  all  well  had  the  easy  good  man 
ners  which  spring  from  a  naturally  good  heart. 
She  was  as  well  educated  as  the  two  girls  who 
had  just  left  the  car ;  perhaps  better,  for  she  was 
going  to  graduate  from  the  Normal  College  in 
two  or  three  months  ;  and  yet  she  was  unaffected 
and  unassuming.  As  he  phrased  it  in  his  mind, 
"she  didn't  put  on  any  frills/'  He  could  chat 
with  her  just  as  easily  as  he  used  to  talk  to  the 
girls  who  had  gone  to  school  with  him  at  home. 
And  yet  when  he  considered  how  unlike  she  was 
really  to  these  friends  of  his  childhood  he  won 
dered  why  it  was  he  and  she  had  got  along  so 


A    WALL    STREET    WOOING  57 

well,  and  his  thoughts  went  back  to  the  occasion 
of  his  first  meeting  with  her. 

The  car  was  now  speeding  swiftly  down  Broad 
way,  obstructed  by  no  carriages,  no  carts,  no 
trucks,  no  wagons,  and  no  drays.  Below  Astor 
Place  the  sidewalks  were  as  bare  as  the  street  it 
self  was  empty.  The  shades  were  down  in  the 
windows  of  the  many-storied  buildings  which 
towered  above  the  deserted  thoroughfare,  and 
the  flamboyant  signs  made  their  incessant  ap 
peals  in  vain.  For  a  mile  or  more  it  was  almost 
as  though  he  were  being  carried  through  the 
avenues  of  an  abandoned  city.  The  one  evidence 
of  life,  other  than  the  cars  themselves,  was  an 
infrequent  bicyclist  '-'riding  the  cable  slot  "  up 
from  the  South  Ferry.  If  only  he  had  first  ar 
rived  in  Xew  York  in  the  restful  quiet  of  a  Sun 
day,  so  the  young  Southwesterner  found  himself 
thinking,,  perhaps  the  metropolis  might  not  have 
seemed  to  him  so  overwhelming.  As  it  was.  it 
had  been  a  shock  to  him  to  be  plunged  suddenly 
into  the  vortex  of  the  immense  city. 

A  telegrapher  in  the  little  town  near  which 
he  was  born,  Filson  Shelby  had  gone  beyond  his 
duty  to  oblige  a  Xew-Yorker  who  had  chanced 
to  be  detained  there  for  a  fortnight,  and  the 
Xew-Yorker  had  repaid  his  courtesy  by  the 
proffer  of  a  position  as  private  operator  in  the 
office  of  a  Wall  Street  friend.  The  young  man 
had  accepted  eagerly,  having  no  ties  to  bind  him 
to  his  home  :  and  yet  he  had  felt  desperately 


58         OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

homesick  more  than  once  during  his  first  three 
months  in  New  York.  Indeed,  it  was  not  until 
he  had  come  to  know  Edna  Leisler  that  he  had 
reconciled  himself  to  the  great  town,  which  was 
so  crowded,  and  in  which  he  was  so  alone.  He 
was  slow  to  form  friendships,  but  he  had  made 
a  few  acquaintances. 

It  was  one  of  these  casual  acquaintances  who 
had  taken  him  one  day  to  the  top  of  an  old  office 
building  not  far  from  the  Stock  Exchange.  Here 
the  janitor  lived,  and  was  allowed  to  use  one  of 
the  rooms  allotted  to  him  as  a  lunch-room.  The 
janitor's  wife  was  a  good  cook,  and  Filson  Shelby 
returned  there  again  and  again.  One  Saturday, 
when  the  room  happened  to  be  more  crowded 
than  usual,  the  rawboned  and  ruddy  Irish  girl 
was  unable  to  serve  everybody,  and  some  time 
after  he  had  given  his  order  Filson  Shelby  was 
waited  upon  by  a  young  lady  in  a  neat  brown 
dress.  He  was  observant,  and  he  saw  a  red  spot 
burning  on  each  cheek,  and  he  noted  that  the 
lips  were  tightly  set.  It  seemed  to  him  that  she 
was  acting  as  waitress  unwillingly,  and  yet  at 
the  same  time  that  she  was  doing  it  of  her  own 
accord.  He  did  not  like  to  stare  at  her,  and  yet 
lie  could  hardly  take  his  eyes  from  her  while  she 
was  in  the  room.  She  was  not  beautiful  exactly, 
for  she  was  but  a  slim  slip  of  a  girl,  and  she  had 
coppery  hair  ;  and  he  had  always  been  taught 
that  red  hair  was  ugly.  Yet  something  about 
her  took  his  fancy ;  perhaps  it  was  her  hide- 


A   WALL   STREET    WOOIXG  59 

pendent  manner,  perhaps  it  was  rather  her  perky 
self-possession  ;  perhaps,  after  all,  it  was  the  hu 
morous  expression  which  lurked  in  her  eyes  and 
at  the  corner  of  her  mouth. 

He  had  lingered  over  his  luncheon  that  noon 
as  long  as  he  could,  and  then  he  was  reward 
ed.  The  man  who  had  first  brought  him  there 
entered  and  took  a  seat  beside  him.  AVhen  the 
young  lady  in  brown  came  for  his  order  the  new 
comer  shook  hands  with  her  cordially,  and  called 
her  "Miss  Edna," 

"'She  used  to  go  to  school  with  my  sister,"  he 
explained  to  the  young  Southwesterner.  <e  She's 
up  at  the  Xormal  College  now,  and  I've  never 
seen  her.  here  in  the  dining-room  before.  But 
she  has  a  holiday,  and  I  suppose  she  thought  she 
ought  to  help  her  mother  out.  It's  her  mother 
who  cooks,  you  know — and  boss  cooking  it  is, 
too,  isn't  it  ? — real  home  sort  of  flavor  about  it." 

Filson  Shelby  had  still  delayed  his  departure  ; 
and  as  Edna  Leisler  brought  bread  and  butter, 
and  went  back  again  to  the  kitchen,  his  friend's 
chatter  had  streamed  along. 

'•  lied  -  hot  hair,  hasn't  she  ?"  was  the  next 
remark.  •'•'  If  there  was  half  a  dozen  more  of 
her  you'd  think  it  was  a  torchlight  procession, 
wouldn't  you  ?  But  it  suits  her  style,  don't  it  ? 
Fact  is,  she's  the  only  red-haired  girl  I  ever  saw 
I  didn't  hate  at  sight/'' 

It  seemed  as  though  he  had  expected  Filson 
to  respond  to  this,  and  so  the  young  Southwest- 


GO         OUTLINES  IK  LOCAL  COLOR 

erner  hesitated,  and  cleared  his  throat,  and  ad 
mitted  that  her  hair  was  red. 

"Well,  it  is  just,"  the  other  returned.  "I 
guess  her  barber  has  to  wear  asbestos  gloves,  eh  ? 
But  she's  a  good  girl,  Edna  is,  if  she  is  a  brand 
from  the  burning.  My  sister  used  to  be  very 
fond  of  her,  and  I  like  her  myself,  though  she 
isn't  in  our  set  exactly.  I'll  introduce  you,  if 
you  like  ?" 

The  cable-car  now  came  to  a  halt  sharply  to 
set  down  passengers  for  Brooklyn  by  way  of  the 
bridge,  but  Filson  Shelby  was  wholly  unconscious 
of  this.  He  was  busy  with  the  recollection  of 
that  winter  day  when  he  had  stood  up  with  bash 
ful  awkwardness  and  had  heard  Edna  Leisler  say 
that  she  was  pleased  to  meet  him.  lie  had  the 
memory  also  of  the  next  Saturday,  when  he  had 
gone  back  to  the  little  low  eating-room  under 
the  roof  in  the  hope  of  seeing  her  again,  and  of 
the  unaffected  frankness  of  her  manner  towards 
him  when  he  met  her  on  the  stairway. 

He  remembered  how  simply  she  had  accepted 
his  invitation  to  go  to  Central  Park  to  lunch  on 
Washington's  Birthday,  the  first  holiday  when 
they  were  both  free,  and  he  remembered,  too, 
what  a  good  time  they  had  up  there.  It  was  on 
that  Washington's  Birthday  that  he  had  first 
found  out  that  in  the  eyes  of  some  people  red 
hair  was  not  a  blemish,  but  a  beauty.  The  omni 
bus  in  which  they  came  down-town  had  been  so 
crowded  that  they  were  separated,  and  he  heard 


A    WALL    STREET    WOOING  61 

one  well  -  dressed  man  say  to  his  companion  : 
"Did  yon  ever  see  such  stunning  hair  as  that 
girl  has  ?  It  is  like  burnished  copper— except 
when  the  sun  glints  on  it,  and  then  it's  like  spun 
gold." 

Hitherto  he  had  been  willing  to  overlook  her 
aggressive  locks  in  consideration  of  her  good 
qualities,  but  thereafter  he  came  rapidly  to  ac 
cept  the  view  of  the  well-dressed  man  in  the  om 
nibus,  and  to  look  upon  her  red  hair  as  a  crown 
of  glory.  She  did  not  seem  any  more  attractive 
to  him  than  she  did  at  first  meeting,  but  he 
knew  now  that  other  men  might  be  attracted 
also.  He  wondered  whether  there  were  any  other 
men  whom  she  knew  as  well  as  she  knew  him. 
It  seemed  to  him  that  they  had  taken  to  each 
other  at  the  start,  and  they  were  now  very  good 
friends  indeed.  But  there  was  no  reason  why 
she  should  not  have  other  friends  also. 

The  current  of  his  retrospection  was  not  so 
sweeping  that  he  could  not  follow  the  course  of 
the  cable-car  in  which  he  was  seated,  and  just 
then  he  saw  the  brown  spire  of  Trinity  Church 
and  heard  the  clock  strike  three.  He  signalled 
to  the  conductor,  and  the  car  stopped  before  the 
church  door  and  at  the  head  of  Wall  Street. 

As  he  stood  looking  down  the  crooked  street, 
washed  white  by  the  rain  and  looking  clean  in 
the  April  sunshine,  he  asked  himself  why  he  was 
going  to  meet  Edna  Leisler— and  especially  why 
it  was  his  heart  had  slowed  up  at  the  suggestion 


62         OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

that  perhaps  other  men  were  as  attentive  to  her 
as  he  was.  He  was  not  in  love  with  her,  was  he  ? 
That  she  had  made  New  York  tolerable  to  him 
he  was  ready  to  admit,  and  also  that  he  liked  her 
better  than  any  girl  he  had  ever  met.  Bat  if  he 
was  jealous  of  her,  did  not  that  prove  that  he 
loved  her  ? 

These  were  the  questions  he  propounded  as 
he  walked  from  Broadway  to  the  old  building 
on  the  top  floor  of  which  the  Leislers  lived. 
When  Edna  Leisler  came  down-stairs  to  meet 
him,  with  her  new  Easter  hat,  he  knew  the  an 
swers  to  these  questions  ;  he  knew  that  he  would 
be  miserable  if  he  were  to  lose  the  privilege  of 
her  society  ;  he  knew  furthermore  that  he  had 
loved  her  since  the  first  day  he  had  seen  her, 
even  though  he  had  not  hitherto  suspected  it. 
He  knew  also  that  he  would  never  have  a  better 
chance  to  tell  her  that  he  loved  her  than  he 
would  have  that  afternoon  ;  and  while  they  were 
shaking  hands  he  made  up  his  mind  that  before 
he  took  her  back  to  her  mother's  he  would  get 
her  promise  to  marry  him. 

With  this  resolve  fixed,  he  took  refuge  in  the 
commonplace. 

"Am  I  late  ?"  he  asked. 

"Five  minutes/'  she  answered.  "I  didn't 
know  but  what  you  were  going  to  April  -  fool 
me." 

"Oh,  Miss  Edna,"  he  cried,  "you  know  I 
wouldn't  do  that  I" 


A    WALL    STREET    WOOING  63 

' '  I  didn't  think  you  would  really,''  she  laughed 
back.  ''And  I  felt  sure  I  could  get  even  with 
you  if  you  did.'' 

Thus  lightly  chatting,  they  came  to  the  corner 
of  Broad  Street. 

"  Shall  we  go  down  to  the  Battery  ?"  he  sug 
gested,  thinking  that  he  might  find  a  chance 
there  to  say  what  was  in  his  heart. 

'•'Yes,"  she  assented:  '-'it  '11  be  first-rate  to 
get  a  whiff  of  the  salt  breeze.  It's  as  warm  as 
spring  to-day,  isn't  it  ?" 

In  front  of  the  Stock  Exchange,  and  for  two 
or  three  blocks  below,  Broad  Street  was  abso 
lutely  bare,  except  for  a  little  knot  of  men  work 
ing  over  a  man-hole  of  the  electrical  conduit. 
The  ten-story  buildings  lifted  themselves  aloft 
on  both  sides  of  the  street,  without  any  evidence 
of  life  from  window  or  doorway  :  they  were  as 
silent  and  seemingly  empty  as  though  they  be 
longed  to  a  deserted  city  of  the  plains.  Bar 
rooms  in  cellars  had  bock-beer  placards  before 
their  closed  portals.  On  the  glass  panel  of  the 
swing-door  which  admitted  the  week-day  passer 
by  to  the  Business  Men's  Quick  Lunch  there  was 
wafered  the  bill  of  fare  of  the  day  before,  but 
the  door  itself  was  closed  tight.  So  were  the  en 
trances  to  more  pretentious  restaurants. 

But  as  Filson  Shelby  and  Edna  Leisler  went 
on  farther  down  -  town.  Broad  Street  slowly 
changed  its  character.  There  were  not  so  many 
office  buildings  and  more  retail  shops ;  there 


64         OUTLINES  IK  LOCAL  COLOK 

were  a  few  wholesale  warehouses  ;  there  were 
even  cheap  flat  -  houses  ;  and  there  were  more 
signs  of  life.  Children  began  to  fill  the  road 
way  and  the  sidewalks.  There  were  boys  on  tri 
cycles,  and  there  were  Little  Mothers  pushing 
perambulators  in  which  babies  lay  asleep.  There 
were  girls  on  roller-skates  ;  and  one  of  these,  a 
tall,  lanky  child,  had  a  frolicsome  black  poodle, 
which  pulled  her  quickly  along  the  sidewalk. 

Seeing  some  of  these  things,  and  not  seeing 
others,  and  being  taken  up  wholly  by  their  own 
talk,  the  young  Southwesterner  and  the  New 
York  girl  passed  through  Whitehall  Street  and 
came  out  on  the  Battery.  They  walked  to  the 
edge  of  the  water,  and  looked  across  the  waves 
to  the  Statue  of  Liberty  holding  her  torch  aloft. 
An  Italian  steamer  full  of  immigrants  was  just 
coming  up  from  Quarantine.  The  afternoon  was 
clear,  after  the  rain  of  the  night  before,  and  yet 
there  was  a  haze  on  the  horizon.  The  huge 
grain  -  elevators  over  on  the  Jersey  shore  stood 
out  against  the  sky  defiantly. 

A  fringe  of  men  and  women  sat  on  the  seats 
around  the  grass-plots  and  along  the  sea-wall. 
Many  of  the  women  had  children  in  their  arms 
or  at  their  skirts.  Most  of  the  men  were  read 
ing  the  gaudily  illustrated  Sunday  newspapers  ; 
some  of  them  were  smoking.  The  sea-breeze 
blew  mildly,  with  a  foretaste  of  warm  weather. 
The  grass-plots  were  brownish-gray,  with  but  the 
barest  touch  of  green  at  the  edges,  and  there  was 


A    WALL   STREET    WOOING  65 

never  a  bud  yet  on  any  of  the  skeleton  trees. 
None  the  less  did  every  one  know  that  the  winter 
was  gone  for  good,  and  that  any  day  almost  the 
spring  might  come  in  with  a  rush. 

As  Filson  Shelby  looked  about  him  he  saw 
more  than  one  young  couple  sitting  side  by  side 
on  the  benches  or  sauntering  languidly  along  the 
winding  walks,  and  he  knew  that  he  was  not  the 
only  young  fellow  Avho  felt  the  stirring  of  the 
season.  Xo  one  of  the  other  girls  was  as  good- 
looking  as  Edna,  nor  as  stylish  ;  he  saw  this  at 
half  a  glance.  With  every  minute  his  desire 
grew  to  tell  her  how  dear  she  was  to  him.  and 
still  he  put  it  off  and  put  it  off.  Once  or  twice 
when  she  spoke  to  him  he  left  her  remark  unan 
swered,  and  then  hastily  begged  her  pardon -for 
his  rudeness.  He  did  not  quite  know  what  he 
was  saying,  and  he  feared  that  she  must  think 
him  a  fool.  He  was  restless,  too,  and  it  seemed 
to  him  quite  impossible  to  ask  her  to  marry  him 
in  such  an  exposed  place  as  the  Battery. 

"  Suppose  we  go  up  to  Trinity  Church  ?'"  he 
suggested.  ei  It's  always  quiet  enough  in  the 
graveyard  there." 

*'•  Isn't  it  quiet  enough  here  ?"  she  asked,  as 
they  turned  their  footsteps  away  from  Castle 
Garden. 

'•'It  isn't  really  noisy,  I'll  admit,"  he  respond 
ed  :  "'but  I  get  mighty  tired  of  those  elevated 
trains  snorting  along  over  the  back  of  my  head, 
don't  you  ?" 

5 


66         OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

She  gave  him  a  queer  little  look  out  of  the 
corner  of  her  eye,  and  then  she  laughed  lightly. 

"Oh,  well/'  she  replied,  "if  you  think  Trini 
ty  Church  Yard  is  a  better  place,  I  don't  mind." 

Then  her  cheeks  suddenly  flamed  crimson,  and 
she  turned  away  her  head. 

They  were  now  crossing  the  barren  space  un 
der  the  elevated  railroad,  and,  as  it  happened, 
the  young  man  did  not  see  her  swift  blush. 

As  they  skirted  the  oval  of  Bowling  Green  the 
girl  nodded  to  a  gray-coated  policeman  on  guard 
over  the  little  park. 

"Who's  that  ?"  asked  the  young  man,  acutely 
jealous,  although  he  saw  that  the  officer  was  not 
less  than  fifty  years  old. 

"  That's  Mr.  O'Eourke/'she  explained.  "  lie's 
Hose  O'Rourke's  father.  She  was  graduated  from 
the  Normal  College  only  two  years  ago,  and  then 
she  went  on  the  stage.  She's  getting  on  splen 
didly,  too.  She  played  Queen  Elizabeth  last  year 
— and  didn't  she  look  it  ?  I'm  sure  she's  a  great 
deal  handsomer  than  that  old  Queen  was." 

"But  that  old  Queen,"  he  returned,  "wasn't 
the  daughter  of  a  sparrow-cop — that's  what  you 
call  them,  don't  you  ?" 

"/don't  call  them  so,"  she  responded,  "for  I 
think  it's  vulgar  to  talk  slang." 

"  But  the  boys  do  call  a  park  policeman  a  spar 
row-cop,  don't  they  ?"  he  persisted. 

"  The  little  boys  do,"  she  answered,  "  but  I 
know  Mr.  O'Rourke  doesn't  like  it." 


A    WALL   STREET   WOOING  6? 

"I  can  understand  that,"  he  replied.  "If  I 
had  Queen  Elizabeth  for  a  daughter,  I  think  I 
should  want  to  be  a  king  myself.'*' 

"  Well."  the  girl  went  on  to  explain,  "  Rose 
did  want  him  to  give  up  his  appointment.  She 
said  she  was  earning  enough  for  her  father  not 
to  work.  But  he  wouldn't,  for  all  she  urged 
him.  She's  a  kind  girl,  is  Rose,  and  not  a  bit 
stuck-up.  She  came  up  to  the  college  last  year 
and  recited  for  us.  You  should  have  heard  her 
do  "Curfew  shall  not  ring  to-night';  I  tell  you 
she  was  splendid." 

"  I  don't  believe  she  did  it  any  better  than  you 
could."  he  declared. 

"  Oh,  don't  you  ?"  she  returned,  heartily ; 
"that's  only  because  you  didn't  hear  her.  And 
she  was  very  nice  to  me,  too.  She  complimented 
me  on  my  piece." 

"What  did  you  speak  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  always  choose  something  fiery  and  pa 
triotic.  I  spoke  '  Sheridan's  Ride '  first,  and  then, 
when  the  girls  encored  me,  I  spoke  'Old  Iron 
sides'* — but  I  like  f Sheridan's  Ride'  best;  and 
Rose  O'Rourke  said  I  got  more  out  of  it  than 
anybody  she  had  ever  heard.  But  then  she  al 
ways  was  so  complimentary." 

"  I  reckon  she  knows  it's  lucky  for  her  you 
don't  go  on  the  stage,"  the  lover  asserted.  "'It 
would  be  a  cold  day  for  her  if  you  did.  I  haven't 
seen  her,  but  I'm  sure  she  isn't  such  a  good  look 
er  as  you  are  !" 


68         OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

"  Thank  you  for  the  compliment/'  the  girl  an 
swered.  "  If  we  weren't  here  in  Broadway,  in 
front  of  Trinity  Church,  I'd  drop  you  a  courtesy. 
But  you  wouldn't  say  that  if  you  had  seen  her, 
for  she's  as  pretty  as  a  picture." 

"Do  you  mean  that  she  is  as  fresh  as  paint  ?" 
he  asked. 

"That's  real  mean  of  you/'  she  retorted,  "for 
Rose  doesn't  need  to  paint  at  all,  even  on  the 
stage  ;  she  has  just  the  loveliest  complexion." 

"  She's  not  the  only  girl  in  New  York  who  has 
a  lovely  complexion,"  he  declared  ;  and  again 
the  color  rose  swiftly  on  her  cheek,  and  then  as 
swiftly  faded. 

They  had  now  come  to  the  gates  of  Trinity 
Church,  and  they  saw  a  little  stream  of  men  and 
women  pouring  in  to  attend  the  afternoon  ser 
vice. 

"You  must  not  be  down  011  Rose,"  the  girl 
said,  as  they  turned  away  from  Broadway  and 
began  to  ramble  slowly  amid  the  tombstones. 
"  She's  a  good  friend  of  mine.  She  said  she'd 
get  me  an  engagement  if  I'd  go  on  the  stage — 

"But  you  are  not  going  to?"  he  broke  in, 
earnestly. 

"I'd  love  to,"  she  answered,  calmly.  "But 
I'm  too  big  a  coward.  I'd  never  dare  stand  up 
before  the  people  in  a  great  big  theatre  and  feel 
they  were  all  looking  at  me." 

"  I'm  glad  you're  not  going  to,"  he  declared. 

"  It  would  be  too  delightful  for  anything  !" 


A    WALL   STREET   WOOIXG  69 

she  asserted  ;  "but  I'd  never  have  the  courage. 
I  know  I  wouldn't,  so  I've  given  up  the  idea. 
I'll  finish  my  course  at  the  college,  and  get  my 
diploma,  and  then  I'll  be  a  teacher — that  is,  if  I 
can  get  an  appointment.  But  it  isn't  easy  if 
you  haven't  any  influence  ;  and  father  doesn't 
take  any  interest  in  politics,  and  he  doesn't 
know  any  of  the  trustees  of  this  district,  and  I 
can't  see  how  I'm  ever  to  get  into  a  school. 
Now  Mr.  O'Kourke  could  help  me  if  he  want 
ed—" 

"  The  sparrow-cop  ?"  interrupted  the  young 
Southwesterner.  "Why,  what  has  he  got  to  do 
with  the  public  schools  ?" 

•'•'Mr.  O'Rourke  has  a  great  deal  of  influence 
in  this  ward,  I  can  tell  you  that."  she  returned. 
"He  has  a  pull  on  more  than  one  of  the  trus 
tees.  If  he  were  to  back  me,  I'd  get  my  position 
sure  !  And  maybe  I  had  better  go  to  Rose  and 
ask  her  for  her  father's  influence.'' 

They  were  now  almost  in  the  centre  of  that 
part  of  the  church-yard  which  lies  above  the 
church,  and  behind  the  monument  to  the  Ameri 
can  prisoners  who  died  during  the  British  oc 
cupancy  of  New  York.  The  afternoon  service 
was  about  to  begin,  and  the  solemn  tones  of  the 
organ  were  audible  where  they  stood. 

It  seemed  to  Filson  Shelby  that  the  time  had 
come  for  him  to  speak. 

He  swallowed  a  lump  in  bis  throat,  and  be 
gan. 


70  OUTLINES  IIST  LOCAL  COLOR 

"  Miss  Edna/7  he  said,  hesitatingly,  "  why  do 
you  want  to  be  a  school-teacher  ?" 

"  To  earn  my  living,  to  be  sure  !"  she  an 
swered,  calmly  enough,  although  the  color  was 
rising  again  on  her  cheeks. 

"But  you  don't  need  ever  so  many  scholars  to 
earn  your  living,  do  you  ?"  he  asked,  gaining 
courage  slowly. 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  she  returned,  forcing 
herself  to  look  him  in  the  face. 

"  I  mean/'  he  responded,  "  that  I  don't  see 
why  you  couldn't  earn  your  living  just  as  well 
by  having  only  one  scholar — 

"  Only  one  scholar  ?"  she  echoed. 

"  Yes — only  one  scholar,"  he  declared  ;  "  but 
you  could  take  him  for  life.  And  you  could 
teach  him  everything  that  was  good  and  true 
and  beautiful — and  he  would  work  hard  for  you, 
and  try  and  make  you  happy." 

The  color  ebbed  from  her  cheeks,  but  she 
said  nothing.  The  low  notes  of  the  organ  were 
dying  away,  and  on  the  elevated  railroad  just 
behind  the  young  couple  a  train  came  hissing 
along  wreathed  in  swirling  steam. 

"  I'm  not  worthy  of  you,  Edna ;  I  know  that 
only  too  well ;  but  you  can  make  me  ever  so 
much  better  if  you'll  only  try,"  he  urged.  "  I 
love  you  with  my  whole  heart — that's  what  I've 
been  trying  to  say.  Will  you  marry  me  ?" 

She  raised  her  eyes  to  his  and  simply  answered, 
"Yes." 


IN    TRINITY    CHURCH  YARD 


A    WALL    STREET    WOOING  71 

All  hour  later,  as  they  were  going  through  the 
dropping  twilight  down  Wall  Street  to  the  old 
office  building,  on  the  top  floor  of  which  she 
lived  with  her  parents,  they  were  still  talking  of 
each  other,  of  their  united  future,  and  of  their 
separate  past. 

When  they  came  to  the  door  and  stood  at  the 
foot  of  the  five  flights  of  stairs  that  led  up  to  the 
janitor's  apartment,  they  had  still  many  things 
to  say  to  each  other. 

What  seemed  to  Filson  Shelby  most  astonish 
ing  was  that  he  should  now  be  engaged  to  be 
married,  when  that  very  morning  he  was  not 
even  aware  of  his  love  for  her.  And  being  a 
very  young  fellow,  and,  moreover,  being  very 
much  in  love,  he  could  not  keep  this  astonish 
ing  thing  to  himself,  but  must  needs  tell  her. 

•'Do  you  know,  Edna/''  he  began,  ''that  I 
must  have  been  in  love  with  you  a  long  while 
without  knowing  it  ?  Isn't  that  most  extraordi 
nary  ?  And  it  was  only  this  morning  that  I 
found  it  out  \" 

Standing  on  the  stairs  above  him,  and  just 
out  of  his  reach,  she  broke  into  a  merry  little 
laugh,  and  the  tendrils  of  red  hair  quivered 
around  her  broad  brow. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at  ?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  nothing,''  she  answered,  and  then  she 
laughed  again.  "  At  least,  not  much.  It  is  only 
because  men  are  so  much  slower  to  see  things 
than  women  are." 


72  OUTLINES    IN"    LOCAL   COLOR 

'"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  he  asked  again. 

"Well,"  she  returned,  laughing  once  more, 
and  retreating  two  or  three  steps  higher  up  the 
stairs,  "  I  mean  that  you  say  you  only  found  out 
this  morning  that  you  were  in  love  with  me— 

"Yes?" 

"Well,"  she  continued,  making  ready  for 
flight,  "I  found  it  out  more  than  two  months 
ago." 

(1895) 


i'"-***^  ' 

;  y^gQ^s^  :  *^" 


r= 


©  !»!  ^  in  ~  ills    l  S  Hi  a  Hi 


crtood   in 

cJozoadwau 

u 


V 


he  came  down  the  steps  of  his  sis 
ter's  little  house,  that  first  Saturday 
in  May,  he  saw  before  him  the  fresh 
greenery  of  the  grass  in  Stuyvesant 
Square  and  the  delicate  blossoms 
on  its  sparse  bushes  and  the  young  leaves  on  its 
trees  :  and  he  felt  in  himself  also  the  subtle  in 
fluences  of  the  spring-tide.  The  sky  was  cloud 
less,  serene,  and  unfathomably  blue.  The  sun 
shone  clearly,  and  the  shadows  it  cast  were  al 
ready  lengthening  along  the  street.  The  gen 
tle  breeze  blew  hesitatingly.  He  heard  the  in 
articulate  shriek  of  the  hawker  bearing  a  tray 
containing  a  dozen  square  boxes  of  strawberries 
and  walking  near  a  cart  piled  high  with  crates. 
When  he  crossed  Third  Avenue  he  noticed  that  a 
white  umbrella  had  flowered  out  over  the  raised 
chair  of  the  Italian  boot-black  at  the  corner.  A 
butcher-boy,  with  basket  on  arm,  was  lingering 
at  a  basement  door  in  lively  banter  with  a  good- 
looking  Irish  cook.  A  country  wagon,  full  of 
growing  plants,  crawled  down  the  street  while 
the  vender  bawled  forth  the  cheapness  of  his 
wares. 

There  were  other  signs  of  the  season  at  Union 
Square — the  clingy  landaus  with  their  tops  half 


76         OUTLINES  IX  LOCAL  COLOR 

open,  the  flowers  bedded  out  in  bright  profusion,, 
the  aquatic  plants  adorning  the  broad  basin  of 
the  fountain,  the  pigeons  wooing  and  cooing  lan 
guidly,  the  sparrows  energetically  flirting  and 
fighting,  the  young  men  and  maidens  walking 
slowly  along  the  curving  paths  and  smiling  in 
each  other's  faces.  To  Harry  Grant,  just  home 
from  a  long  winter  in  the  bleak  Northwest,  it 
seemed  as  though  man  and  nature  were  alike 
rejoicing  in  the  rising  of  the  sap  and  the  bour 
geoning  of  spring.  It  was  as  though  the  pulse 
of  the  strong  city  were  beating  more  swiftly  and 
with  renewed  youth.  Harry  Grant  felt  his  own 
heart  rejoice  that  he  was  back  again  amid  the 
sights  he  loved,  within  a  stone's -throw  of  the 
house  where  he  was  born,  within  pistol-shot  of 
the  residence  of  the  girl  he  was  now  going  at 
last  to  ask  to  marry  him. 

It  was  nearly  a  year  since  he  had  last  seen  her, 
but  he  knew  she  would  greet  him  as  cordially 
as  she  had  always  done.  That  Winifred  was  a 
good  friend  of  his  he  knew  well  enough  ;  what 
he  did  not  know  at  all  Avas  whether  or  not  the 
friendship  had  changed  to  love  on  her  part  also. 
He  could  hardly  recall  the  time  when  he  had 
not  known  her.  He  could  distinctly  remember 
the  occasion  when  he  had  first  told  her  that  he 
intended  to  marry  her  when  he  was  grown  up — 
that  was  on  a  spring  day  like  this,  and  he  was 
seven  and  she  was  five,  and  they  were  playing 
together  in  Gramercy  Park  while  their  nurses  fol- 


A    SPRING    FLOOD    IX    BROADWAY  77 

lowed  them  slowly  around  the  enclosure.  Xow 
he  was  twenty-three  and  she  was  twenty-one  ; 
and  in  all  these  sixteen  years  there  had  been  no 
day  when  he  had  not  looked  forward  to  their 
marriage.  Of  course,  when  he  had  grown  to  be 
a  big  boy  and  had  been  sent  away  to  boarding- 
school,  he  had  been  ashamed  to  talk  about  such 
things.  But  when  he  went  to  college  he  had 
gazed  ahead  four  years  and  almost  fixed  on  the 
day  he  intended  to  propose. 

Then  his  father  had  died,  and  the  family  af 
fairs  were  left  in  inexplicable  confusion.  His 
uncle  had  offered  to  pay  Harry's  way  through 
Columbia,  but  he  was  in  a  haste  to  be  indepen 
dent,  to  make  his  own  path,  to  have  a  position 
which  he  could  ask  Winifred  to  share.  He  found 
a  place  at  once  in  the  office  of  a  great  dry-goods 
house  :  and  he  had  been  so  successful  there  that 
one  of  their  customers  had  offered  him  induce 
ments  to  go  out  to  a  swiftly  growing  city  in  the 
new  Northwest.  Two  years  had  Harry  Grant 
spent  out  there — two  years  of  hard  work  amid 
men  who  were  all  toiling  mightily  and  who  were 
capable  of  appreciating  his  youthful  energy. 
Xow  he  was  back  again  in  Xew  York  to  act  as 
the  Eastern  representative  of  the  chief  capitalist 
of  the  Northwestern  city,  an  old  man.  who  liked 
Harry,  and  who  saw  how  useful  his  address  and 
his  character  might  be.  The  position  was  oner 
ous  for  a  man  so  young  ;  but  it  was  honorable 
also,  and  the  salary  was  liberal  even  from  a  Xew 


78         OUTLIKES  IK  LOCAL  COLOR 

York  standpoint.  At  last  he  was  again  able  to 
look  at  life  from  the  point  of  view  of  a  New- 
Yorker.  At  last  he  was  ready  to  ask  her  to  share 
his  life. 

He  was  in  no  hurry  for  the  moment,,  as  he 
could  not  make  sure  of  rinding  her  at  home  un 
til  nearly  five  o'clock,  and  it  was  now  barely  four 
by  the  transparent  dial  which  Atlas  bore  on  his 
back  in  the  jeweller's  upper  window  on  the  op 
posite  side  of  the  square.  He  crossed  Broadway 
at  Fourteenth  Street,  and  there  he  was  caught  up 
at  once  and  swept  along  by  the  spring-flood  roll 
ing  up  from  down-town  that  beautiful  afternoon 
in  May.  The  windows  of  the  florists'  were  lovely 
with  Easter  lilies  and  fragrant  with  branches  of 
lilac.  The  windows  of  the  confectioners'  were 
gay  with  gaudy  Easter  eggs  and  with  elaborate 
chocolate  rabbits.  Young  girls  pressed  giggling 
through  the  doors  to  stand  packed  beside  the 
soda-water  fountains.  Elderly  men  lingered  at 
the  street  corners  to  stare  at  the  young  women. 

Within  an  hour  or  two  at  the  most  Harry 
Grant  intended  to  ask  Winifred  to  be  his  wife, 
and  as  he  saw  the  dread  question  so  close  before 
him  he  could  not  but  wonder  what  the  answer 
would  be.  Winifred  liked  him — that  much  he 
felt  sure  about.  Whether  she  loved  him,  even  a 
little,  that  he  could  not  venture  to  guess.  She 
had  sturdy  common-sense  and  she  was  self- 
reliant,  he  knew  well,  and  yet  he  could  not  help 
fearing  that  perhaps  the  influence  of  her  grand- 


A    SPRIXG    FLOOD    IX    BROADWAY  79 

mother  had  been  more  powerful  than  he  wished. 
It  was  possible,  of  course,  that  the  restless  and 
ambitious  old  lady  had  inoculated  her  young 
granddaughter  with  some  of  her  own  dissatisfac 
tion. 

As  Harry's  circumstances  had  changed  since 
they  were  boy  and  girl  together,  so  had  Wini 
fred's.  Her  father  had  died  also,  and  then  her 
grandfather,  leaving  a  very  large  fortune  to  his 
widow,  and  Winifred  had  gone  to  live  with  her 
grandmother,  Mrs.  Winston-Smith.  (It  was  her 
grandmother  who  had  put  the  hyphen  into  the 
name,  and  who  had  insisted  on  its  adoption  by 
the  son  and  the  granddaughter.)  That  Mrs. 
Winston-Smith  did  not  like  him.  Harry  Grant 
kne\v  only  too  well,  or,  at  least,  that  she  did  not 
approve  of  him  as  a  possible  suitor  for  the  hand 
of  Miss  Winston-Smith.  She  thought  that  her 
granddaughter  ought  to  make  a  brilliant  mar 
riage.  She  had  been  heard  to  say  that  in  Eng 
land  Winifred  would  have  no  difficulty  in  marry 
ing  a  title.  She  had  taken  her  granddaughter 
to  London  the  season  before,  and  they  had  been 
presented  at  court,  to  go  afterwards  on  a  round 
of  country-house  visits,  returning  late  to  finish 
the  summer  at  Lenox. 

All  this  Harry  knew  from  the  newspapers  ; 
but  what  Winifred  had  thought  of  it  all  he  did 
not  know,  for  he  had  not  seen  her  since  the  day 
before  her  departure  for  England.  And  that 
interview  itself  had  been  in  the  presence  of  the 


80         OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

grandmother  and  of  two  or  three  casual  callers. 
Really  he  had  not  had  chance  of  speech  with  the 
woman  he  had  loved  for  three  years — ever  since 
Mrs.  Winston -Smith  had  asked  him  to  dinner 
one  night,  only  to  take  him  into  the  library  and 
to  tell  him  that  she  saw  that  he  was  attracted 
by  Winifred,  and  no  wonder,  but  that  he  must 
give  up  the  hope  of  winning  her.  Mrs.  Winston- 
Smith  was  some  sixty -years  old  at  the  time  of 
this  talk  with  Harry  Grant,  and  she  was  a  very 
stately  dame,  with  no  lack  of  manner,  but  she 
could,  if  she  chose,  express  herself  with  absolute 
frankness  and  directness.  On  that  occasion  she 
had  seen  fit  to  be  perfectly  plain-spoken.  She 
had  told  him  that  Winifred  had  been  used  to 
luxury  and  could  not  do  without  it,  and  that  if 
Winifred  married  against  her  wishes  she  would 
give  all  her  money  to  the  new  cathedral,  cutting 
the  girl  off  without  a  cent.  She  asked  Harry  if 
he  did  not  think  it  would  be  very  selfish  of  him 
to  press  his  suit  when  its  success  would  mean 
the  misery  of  the  woman  he  pretended  to  love. 
She  reminded  him  that  his  own  income  was 
meagre,  and  that  he  had  no  prospects.  If,  then, 
Winifred  had  no  money,  how  could  she  as  his 
wife  have  all  the  luxuries  to  which  she  was  ac 
customed,  and  which  had  now  become  necessi 
ties  ?  Of  course  she  did  not  admit  that  Wini 
fred  was  in  any  way  interested  in  him.  In  fact, 
she  hoped  and  trusted  that  the  girl's  affections 
were  in  no  way  engaged  ;  and  she  relied  on  Mr. 


A    SPRIXG    FLOOD    IX    BROADWAY  81 

Grant's  good  sense  and  on  his  unwillingness  to 
be  so  brutally  selfish.  After  all,  Winifred  was  a 
mere  child,  and  had  seen  nothing  of  the  world 
as  yet. 

Harry  Grant  had  made  no  promises  to  Mrs. 
Winston -Smith,  but  he  had  felt  the  force  of 
some  of  her  arguments.  Plainly  he  had  no  right 
to  ask  the  woman  he  loved  to  give  up  everything 
for  his  sake  ;  and  as  plainly  he  had  no  wish  to 
live  on  any  money  her  grandmother  might  give 
her.  He  meant,  more  than  ever,  to  win  her  for 
his  wife  :  but  he  saw  clearly  that  he  must  make 
himself  independent  first.  To  be  able  to  give 
her  a  home  not  unworthy  of  her  he  had  worked 
hard  all  these  years.  At  last  he  had  succeeded, 
and  he  was  in  a  position  to  ask  her  to  marry  him 
without  at  the  same  time  asking  her  to  surrender 
the  most  of  the  little  comforts  which  made  her 
life  easy.  With  the  salary  he  had  now  he  could 
make  her  comfortable,  even  if  her  grandmother 
chose  to  take  offence  and  cut  her  off  without  a 
cent.  There  was  no  false  pride  about  the  young 
fellow,  and  he  did  not  pretend  to  himself  that 
he  did  not  care  whether  or  not  the  grandmother 
carried  out  her  threat.  He  was  well  aware  that 
life  would  be  very  much  pleasanter  if  Mrs.  Win 
ston-Smith  should  accept  the  situation  and  make 
the  best  of  it,  and  give  her  granddaughter  an 
adequate  allowance. 

Then,  as  these  thoughts  ran  through  his  head, 
he  smiled  at  his  own  fatuity  in  taking  Winifred's 


82  OUTLINES   IN    LOCAL   COLOR 

consent  for  granted  in  this  summary  fashion. 
What  Mrs.  Winston-Smith  said  or  did  mattered 
little.  What  was  of  vital  importance  was  Wini 
fred's  own  answer  to  his  question.  He  could  not 
but  recognize  that  to  call  on  a  young  lady  after 
a  year's  separation  and  to  ask  her  in  marriage, 
suddenly,  without  warning,  was  an  unusual  pro 
ceeding.  And  yet  that  was  just  what  he  was 
going  to  do  ;  and  he  found  himself  musing  over 
schemes  for  getting  her  away  from  her  grand 
mother  and  from  any  chance  visitors.  He  tried 
to  devise  a  means  of  luring  her  into  the  library 
or  of  coaxing  her  into  the  conservatory.  He 
cared  not  how  soon  they  might  be  interrupted  ; 
he  knew  what  he  had  to  say,  and  he  was  prepared 
to  say  it  briefly.  Five  minutes  would  be  time 
enough  —  five  minutes,  if  he  could  but  have 
them  clear.  When  a  man  has  been  wanting  for 
years  to  be  able  to  put  a  simple  question,  it  ought 
not  to  take  him  long  to  say  the  needful  words  ; 
and  he  knew  that  Winifred  would  not  keep  him 
waiting  for  his  answer.  Whether  it  was  to  be 
yes  or  no,  she  would  know  her  own  mind,  and 
be  ready  and  willing  to  accept  him  at  once  or  to 
reject  him  with  as  little  hesitation. 

He  had  been  keeping  pace  with  the  throng 
that  was  sweeping  massively  up-town,  but  as  the 
fear  seized  him  that,  after  all,  he  had  little  rigbt 
to  think  she  might  love  him,  he  lengthened  his 
stride  in  futile  impatience  to  get  his  answer 
sooner.  He  glanced  up  at  Tiffany's  clock,  then 


A   SPRIXG    FLOOD    IX    BROADWAY  83 

almost  over  his  head,  and  he  slackened  his  speed 
as  he  saw  that  it  was  not  vet  five  minutes  past 
four,  lie  had  at  least  half  an  hour  to  wait  be 
fore  he  could  hope  to  find  her  at  home. 

Then,  most  unexpectedly,  he  was  favored  with 
fortune.  The  foremost  of  the  carriages  drawn 
up  in  Fifteenth  Street  alongside  the  jeweller's 
was  a  handsome  coupe,  in  which  a  young  lady 
was  sitting  alone.  As  Harry  Grant  drew  near 
to  the  corner  his  glance  fell  on  this  coupe,  and 
at  that  moment  the  young  lady  looked  up.  He 
saw  that  it  was  Winifred.  As  their  eyes  met  a 
swift  blush  bloomed  in  her  face,  and  faded  as 
speedily.  She  smiled  and  held  out  her  hand  and 
laughed  happily  as  he  sprang  to  the  door  of  the 
carriage. 

•'•'Winifred  !"  he  cried. 

"  Harry  !"  she  answered. 

"  I  didn't  expect  to  see  you  here  !"  he  de 
clared. 

"  Is  that  the  reason  you  are  here,  then  ?"  she 
returned. 

He  made  no  reply.  He  could  not  take  his 
eyes  from  her.  In  his  delight  at  seeing  her  again 
he  had  nothing  to  say. 

••  Well  ?"  she  asked,  when  she  thought  he  had 
stared  enough. 

••Well,"  he  answered.  •'•'!  couldn't  help  it. 
You  are  prettier  than  ever." 

Again  a  flush  flitted  across  her  face,  fainter 
this  time,  and  fleeting  sooner. 


84  OUTLIKES   IK    LOCAL    COLOR 

"That's  a  very  direct  compliment,  don't  you 
think  ?"  she  retorted,  withdrawing  her  hand, 
which  he  had  kept  clasped  in  his  own.  "And 
yon  are  looking  well,  too.  Your  life  out  West 
there  is  good  for  you.  I  don't  wonder  you  pre 
fer  it  to  this  noisy  old  New  York  of  ours." 

"  But  I  don't  prefer  it,"  he  declared,  hotly. 
"A  week  of  New  York  is  worth  a  year  of  the 
whole  wide  West  put  together.  And  I've  done 
with  all  that  now.  I've  come  back  here  for  good 
now— 

"  Have  you  really  ?"  she  responded,  as  he  hesi 
tated,  having  so  much  to  say  that  he  did  not 
know  where  to  begin. 

"I  got  back  this  morning,"  he  explained, 
"and  I  was  coming  to  see  you  this  afternoon. 
I've — I've  so  many  things  to  tell  you." 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  second,  and  then  she 
glanced  away,  as  she  said :  "  You  will  have  to 
talk  very  fast,  then,  if  you  have  so  many  things 
to  tell  me.  We  are  going  to  sail  on  Tuesday 
morning,  and  this  afternoon  we  are  off  to  Tuxedo 
for  over  Sunday." 

"You  sail  on  Tuesday  ?"  he  cried,  despairing 
ly.  "  Just  when  I  have  come  back  on  purpose 
to  see  you  again  !" 

"  You  didn't  telegraph  grandma  that  you  were 
coming,  or  she  might  have  made  other  arrange 
ments,"  the  young  woman  retorted,  with  a  little 
la  ugh . 

"And  if  you  are  going  to  Tuxedo  to-night," 


WINIFRED  !'    HE    CRIED  " 


A   SPRIXG    FLOOD    IX    BROADWAY  85 

he  continued,  paying  no  heed  to  this  ironic  sug 
gestion,  ''-then  you  won't  be  at  home  this  after 
noon  ?" 

"Xo,"  she  answered;  "we  shall  be  back  just 
in  time  to  dress  and  get  away  to  the  train. 
Grandma  has  two  or  three  errands  to  do  first- 
she's  inside  there  arranging  about  some  silver 
things  she  wants  to  take  over  with  us." 

"  But  I  must  see  you  to-day,"  he  pleaded. 

"Aren't  you  seeing  me  now?"  she  returned, 
as  the  blush  rose  again  and  fell. 

"  But  I've  got  something  I  want  to  say  to 
you  !"  he  urged. 

(i  Won't  it  keep  till  Monday  afternoon  ?"  she 
asked,  with  another  light  laugh  ;  but  beneath  the 
levity  there  was  more  than  a  hint  of  feeling. 

"Xo,"he  declared;  "it  won't  keep  an  hour 
longer,  for  it's  been  kept  too  many  years  already. 
Fve  come  here  on  purpose  to  tell  you  something 
— and  I  must  do  it  to-day  !" 

"  If  it's  something  you  want  to  tell  grand 
ma — "  she  began,  as  if  to  gain  time. 

"'But  it  isn't,"  he  returned,  leaning  his  head 
almost  inside  the  open  window  of  the  carriage. 
"'It's  you  I  want  to  talk  to — not  to  your  grand 
mother." 

"Then,"  said  she,  with  a  subtle  change  of 
manner,  "  if  it  is  something  you  don't  want 
grandma  to  hear,  don't  try  to  say  it  now,  for 
here  she  comes." 

Harry  Grant  gave  a  hasty  glance  behind  him, 


86         OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

and  he  recognized  the  stately  figure  of  Mrs. 
Winston-Smith  in  conversation  with  one  of  the 
salesmen  just  inside  the  door  of  the  great  store. 

"Winifred,"  he  said,  pleadingly,  taking  her 
hand  again,  "  where  can  I  see  you  again,  if  only 
for  a  minute — only  a  minute  ?  That's  enough 
for  what  I  want  !" 

Winifred  looked  at  him  and  then  down  at  her 
ringers.  She  hesitated,  and  finally  she  answered : 

"I  think  I  heard  grandma  say  she  was  going 
to  the  florist's  before  she  went  home — that  florist 
in  Broadway  near  Daly's,  you  know.  She  has  a 
lot  of  things  to  order  there,  and  I  shall  sit  in 
the  carriage." 

"Til  take  the  cable-car  and  be  there  waiting 
for  you,"  he  responded. 

" Don't  let  grandma  see  you,"  she  cried; 
"that  is— well— " 

Then  she  sank  back  on  the  cushions  of  the 
carriage,  for  Mrs.  Winston-Smith  was  about  to 
leave  the  store. 

Harry  Grant  had  caught  sight  of  the  old  lady 
in  time.  He  stepped  away  from  the  carriage,  and, 
passing  behind  it,  crossed  to  the  other  side  of 
the  street  without  giving  Winifred's  grandmoth 
er  a  chance  to  recognize  him. 

He  waited  on  the  opposite  corner  until  Mrs. 
Winston-Smith  took  her  place  in  the  coupe  beside 
her  granddaughter,  and  until  the  carriage  was 
turned  and  had  started  towards  Fifth  Avenue. 

Then  he  crossed  the  broad  space  nearly  to  the 


A    SPRING    FLOOD    IX    BROADWAY  8? 

edge  of  the  park  and  jumped  on  the  first  car  that 
came  rushing  around  the  curve.  The  platform 
was  crowded,  but  he  took  no  heed  of  the  men 
who  were  pressed  against  him. 

His  thoughts  were  elsewhere  and  his  heart  was 
full  of  hope ;  it  was  attuned  to  the  gladness  of 
the  spring-time.  He  did  not  see  the  young  men 
and  maidens  who  flocked  thickly  up  Broadway ; 
he  saw  Winifred  only ;  he  saw  her  face,  her  eyes, 
her  smile  of  welcome.  He  was  to  see  her  again, 
at  once  almost,  and  he  could  tell  her  then  how  he 
loved  her,  and  he  could  ask  her  if  she  would  not 
try  to  love  him.  What  if  the  only  chance  he 
should  have  was  in  the  street  itself  ?  Only  the 
proposal  itself  was  of  importance,  the  place  mat 
tered  nothing.  Perhaps  the  imconventionality  of 
the  proceeding  even  added  zest  to  it.  There  was 
unconventionality  in  the  frankness  with  which 
she  had  made  the  appointment.  It  was  this 
frankness  partly  which  made  his  heart  leap  with 
hope,  and  partly  if  was  the  welcome  he  thought 
he  had  read  in  her  eyes  when  their  glances  met 
first. 

The  car  sped  on  its  way,  stopping  at  almost 
every  corner  to  take  on  and  to  let  off  men  and 
women,  who  brushed  against  Harry  Grant  and 
whom  he  did  not  see,  so  absorbed  was  he  in 
going  over  every  word  of  his  brief  dialogue  with 
the  girl  he  loved.  On  the  sidewalks  were  thick 
throngs  of  brightly  dressed  women  looking  into 
the  windows  of  the  shops,  where  were  displayed 


88  OUTLINES    IK    LOCAL   COLOR 

brilliant  parasols  and  trim  yachting  costumes 
and  summer  stuffs  in  lightsome  colors. 

As  the  car  crossed  Fifth  Avenue  he  saw  the 
carriage  of  Mrs.  Winston  -  Smith  only  a  block 
away.  He  recognized  the  coachman  upright 
on  the  box,  and  then  all  at  once  he  wondered 
what  the  coachman  must  have  thought  of  his 
talk  through  the  open  window,  and  of  his  abrupt 
appearance.  He  smiled  —  indeed  he  laughed 
gently — for  what  did  he  care  what  the  coachman 
might  think,  or  anybody  else  ?  It  was  what  she 
thought  which  was  of  importance,  and  nothing 
else  mattered  at  all.  And  again  he  was  seized 
with  impatience  to  see  her  once  and  to  tell  her 
that  he  loved  her,  and  to  get  her  answer.  The 
car  was  going  swiftly,  but  it  seemed  to  him  to 
crawl.  The  coachman  on  the  avenue  was  driv 
ing  briskly,  but  Harry  Grant  was  ready  to  re 
buke  the  man  for  his  sluggishness. 

At  last  the  car  passed  the  door  of  the  florist's 
Winifred  had  described.  Its  window  was  filled 
with  azaleas  massed  with  an  artistic  instinct  al 
most  Japanese.  Harry  Grant  rode  to  the  corner 
above  and  walked  back  very  slowly,  loitering 
before  a  shop  window,  but  wholly  unconscious 
of  the  spring  neck-wear  therein  displayed.  Two 
minutes  later  he  saw  Mrs.  Winston  -  Smith's 
carriage  coming  down  Twenty-ninth  Street.  It 
turned  into  Broadway  and  stopped  before  the  flo 
rist's  wide  window.  Mrs.  Winston-Smith  got  out 
and  ordered  the  coachman  to  wait  at  the  corner. 


A    SPRING    FLOOD    IX    BROADWAY  89 

She  had  disappeared  inside  the  florist's  before 
the  coupe  drew  up  in  the  side  street. 

As  the  coachman  reined  in  his  horses  Harry 
Grant  stepped  up  to  the  open  window. 

"  Winifred—''*  he  began. 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  "you  are  here  already?" 
and  again  the  blush  crossed  her  face. 

'•"Winifred,"  he  repeated,  leaning  his  head  in 
side  the  carriage,  "I  may  have  only  a  minute  to 
say  what  I  have  to  say,  and  I  know  this  isn't  the 
right  place  to  say  it,  either,  but  I  have  no  choice, 
for  I  may  not  have  another  chance.  I  have 
waited  so  long  that  I  simply  must  speak  now." 

He  paused  for  a  moment.  She  said  nothing, 
but  she  rubbed  the  back  of  her  glove  as  though 
to  wear  away  a  speck  of  dirt. 

•'•Winnie,"  he  went  on,  ••what  I  want  to  say 
is  simple  enough.  I  love  you.  Surely  you  must 
know  that  ?" 

"'Yes,"  she  answered,  raising  her  eyes  to  his, 
"I  know  that." 

'•Then  it's  easier  forme  to  go  on.  You  know 
me  ;  you  know  all  about  me  ;  you  know  all  my 
faults,  or  most  of  them  anyway  ;  you  know  I 
love  you.  Do  you  think  you  could  ever  love  me 
a  little  in  return  ?  I  will  try  so  hard  to  deserve 
it.  I've  been  working  ever  since  I  was  seven 
teen  to  make  money  enough  to  be  able  to  ask 
you  to  marry  me.  I've  got  a  good  position  now, 
one  that  I'm  not  ashamed  to  ask  you  to  share. 
Will  you  ?  Will  you  marry  me,  Winnie  ?" 


90         OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

Before  she  con  Id  make  any  answer,  Harry 
Grant  heard  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Winston-Smith 
behind  him  saying  to  the  coachman,  "Home  !" 

He  stepped  hack  and  found  himself  face  to 
face  with  her. 

"  It's  Mr.  Grant,  isn't  it  ?"  she  said,  with  a 
haughty  inclination  of  her  head.  "It's  very 
good  of  you  to  amuse  Winifred  while  I  was  in 
the  shop.  I'd  ask  you  to  come  and  have  a  cup 
of  tea  with  us,  but  we  are  off  to  Tuxedo.  And 
we  sail  on  Tuesday;  perhaps  Winifred  told 
you." 

She  stood  there,  expecting  him  to  open  the 
carriage  door  for  her.  It  was  the  least  he  could 
do,  and  he  did  it.  But  he  could  find  no  words 
to  respond  to  her  conventional  conversation. 
He  looked  at  Winifred,  and  -he  saw  that  the 
color  was  deepening  on  her  cheeks,  and  that  her 
eyes  were  very  bright. 

"  Grandma,"  she  said,  when  at  last  Mrs.  Win 
ston-Smith  was  seated  beside  her — "  Grandma," 
she  repeated,  loud  enough  for  the  young  man 
to  hear  as  he  stood  by  the  open  window,  "  Harry 
has  asked  me  to  marry  him — and  you  came  out 
just  before  I  had  time  to  tell  him  that  I  would  !" 

(1895) 


SlbcZDewelt    gfutzo 


the  third  time  that  afternoon  the 
young  man  stood  before  the  window 
of  the  post  -  office  to  ask  the  same 
question  and  to  receive  the  same 
answer  : 

"  Has  any  letter  come  for  McDowell  Sutro  ?v 

"No." 

This  time  he  persisted,  for  he  could  not  take 
no  for  an  answer  at  that  late  hour  of  the  day. 

•'•'  Are  you  sure  ?"  he  asked,  urgently. 

"Certain  sure."  was  the  answer  that  came 
through  the  window. 

••.Will  there  be  another  mail  from  California 
to-night  ?"  he  inquired,  clutching  a  last  hope. 

•'•'Xot  to-night/'  responded  the  clerk. 

The  young  man  stood  there  for  a  second,  star 
ing  unconsciously  into  the  window,  and  not  see 
ing  anybody  or  anything.  Then  he  turned  slow 
ly  to  go. 

The  clerk  knew  that  look  on  the  face  of  men 
who  asked  for  letters,  and  he  had  a  movement  of 
kindness. 

'•'Say,  young  feller  !v  he  called,  brusquely. 

McDowell  Stitro  faced  about  instantly,  with  a 
swift  flash  of  hope. 

••If  you're  expecting  money   in  that   letter, 


94  OUTLINES    IK    LOCAL   COLOR 

maybe    it's    registered,"    suggested    the    clerk. 
"Ask  over  there  in  the  corner." 

"  Thank  you/'  the  young  man  answered,  grate 
fully  ;  and  he  walked  to  the  window  in  the  cor 
ner  with  expectation  again  lighting  his  face. 

But  there  was  no  registered  letter  for  McDow 
ell  Sutro,  and  there  could  none  arrive  before 
the  next  morning.  And  as  the  handsome  young 
Californian  left  the  post-office  he  knew  that  he 
had  hardly  a  right  even  to  hope  that  the  letter 
he  was  asking  for  should  ever  arrive. 

He  stepped  out  on  Fifth  Avenue  ;  and  though 
a  warm  June  wind  blew  balmily  up  from  Wash 
ington  Square,  his  heart  was  chill  within  him. 
He  shivered  as  he  wondered  what  he  was  to  do 
now.  He  knew  no  one  in  New  York,  and  he 
had  not  a  cent  in  his  pocket. 

In  his  youth  he  had  expected  to  inherit  a  fort 
une,  and  so  he  learned  no  trade  and  studied  no 
profession.  He  had  taught  himself  how  to  be 
idle  elegantly  ;  he  had  never  planned  how  to  earn 
his  own  living.  Perhaps  this  was  the  reason  why 
he  had  failed  to  find  any  work  to  do  during  the 
two  gliding  weeks  since  he  had  suddenly  been 
brought  face  to  face  with  his  final  ten-dollar  bill. 

He  had  110  more  resources  than  he  had  friends. 
His  trunk,  with  the  little  clothing  he  owned,  was 
still  at  the  boarding-house  he  had  left  ten  days  be 
fore  ;  it  was  held  by  the  landlady  till  he  paid  her 
what  he  owed.  His  modest  jewelry  had  been 
pawned,  bit  by  bit. 


THE   VIGIL   OF   McDOWELL   SUTRO  95 

It  was  now  about  seven  in  the  evening,  and 
he  had  had  no  food  since  the  coffee  and  cakes 
taken  perhaps  twelve  hours  earlier,  and  bought 
with  the  last  dime  left  him  after  he  had  paid 
for  his  night's  lodging.  Having  walked  all  day, 
he  was  weary  and  hungry,  and  he  had  no  idea 
how  he  could  get  a  roof  over  his  head  once  again 
or  fill  his  stomach  once  more.  He  had  heard  of 
men  and  women  starving  to  death  in  the  streets 
of  Xew  York,  and  he  found  himself  inquiring  if 
that  were  to  be  his  fate. 

Xot  guiding  his  steps  consciously,  he  went  up 
Fifth  Avenue  to  the  corner  of  Fourteenth  Street, 
and  then  turned  towards  Broadway.  The  long 
June  day  was  drawing  to  an  end.  Behind  his 
back  the  red  sun  was  settling  down  slowly.  The 
street  was  crowded  with  cars  and  with  carts  ;  and 
people  hurried  along,  eager  to  be  with  their  fam 
ilies,  and  giving  no  attention  to  the  homeless 
young  man  they  brushed  against. 

When  he  came  to  Broadway  it  seemed  to  him  as 
though  the  rush  and  the  tumult  redoubled,  and 
as  though  the  men  and  the  women  who  passed 
him  were  being  tossed  to  and  fro  by  invisible 
breakers.  The  roar  of  the  city  rose  all  about 
him  ;  it  smote  on  his  tired  ears  like  the  deafen 
ing  crash  of  the  surf  after  a  northeaster.  He 
likened  himself  to  a  spent  swimmer  about  to  have 
the  life  beaten  out  of  him  by  the  pounding  of  the 
waves,  and  certain  sooner  or  later  to  be  cast  up 
on  the  beach,  a  stripped  and  bruised  corpse. 


96  OUTLINES   IK    LOCAL    COLOR 

So  vividly  did  he  picture  this  that  involun 
tarily  he  straightened  himself  and  drew  a  long 
breath.  He  was  a  good-looking  young  fellow, 
with  a  graceful  brown  mustache  curling  over  his 
weak  mouth.  As  he  stood  there,  erect  as  though 
ready  to  fight  for  his  life,  more  than  one  woman 
passing  briskly  along  the  street  let  his  figure  fill 
her  eye  with  pleasure. 

The  cable^cars  whisked  around  the  curves  be 
fore  him,  and  beyond  them  he  beheld  the  green 
fairness  of  Union  Square.  The  freshness  of  its 
foliage  as  he  saw  it  through  the  darksome  twi 
light  attracted  him.  He  crossed  cautiousl}-,  keep 
ing  a  sharp  lookout  for  the  cars,  and  smiling  as 
he  noted  how  careful  he  was  of  his  life,  now  lie 
did  not  know  how  he  was  to  sustain  it. 

As  he  stood  at  last  in  the  verdant  oasis  in  the 
centre  of  the  square,  suddenly  the  electric  light 
whitewashed  the  pavement,  and  his  unexpected 
shadow  lay  black  and  sprawling  under  his  feet. 
He  looked  up,  startled,  and  he  saw  the  infinite 
arch  of  the  sky  curving  over  him — clear,  cloud 
less,  and  illimitable.  The  faint  sickle  of  the  new 
moon  hung  low  on  the  horizon.  A  towering 
building  thrust  its  thin  height  into  the  air,  and 
the  yellow  lights  in  its  upper  windows  seemed 
like  square  panels  inlaid  in  the  deep  blue  of  the 
sky.  The  beauty  of  the  moment  lifted  him  out 
of  his  present  misery,  and  he  was  glad  to  be 
alive.  The  plash  of  the  fountain  fell  on  his  ears 
and  charmed  them.  The  broad  leaves  of  the 


THE    VIGIL    OF    MCDOWELL    SUTRO  97 

aquatic  plants  swayed  languidly  as  a  gentle  breeze 
blew  across  the  surface  of  the  water. 

With  a  sigh  of  relief.  McDowell  Sutro  dropped 
upon  one  of  the  park  benches.  Until  he  sat  down 
he  did  not  know  how  tired  he  was.  His  feet 
ached,  and  his  stomach  cried  for  food.  And  yet 
he  was  stout  of  heart.  '•'  If  I've  got  to  spend  a 
night  a  la  belle  etoile"  he  said  to  himself,  "  I 
could  have  no  better  luck.  There  are  beautiful 
stars  a-plenty  this  evening.  It's  like  that  night 
in  Venice  when  Tom  Pixley  and  I  took  the  two 
Morton  girls  out  in  our  gondolas,,  and  their  aunt 
couldn't  find  us.  I  remember  we  had  had  a  good 
dinner  at  Florian's,  with  an  immense  dish  of  ri 
sotto  milanexe — so  big  we  had  to  leave  some.  I 
wish  I  had  the  chance  again.  I  could  finish  it 
now  if  it  was  twice  as  much.'*' 

Over  on  Fourth  Avenue,  behind  the  eques 
trian  statue  of  George  Washington,  there  was  a 
Hungarian  restaurant,  and  from  his  bench  at  the 
edge  of  the  grass  McDowell  Sutro  could  see  the 
table  right  in  tho  window  at  which  an  old  man 
and  a  young  woman  were  having  dinner.  He 
could  follow  every  movement  of  their  hands ;  he 
could  count  every  mouthful  they  ate.  At  last 
he  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and  he  changed  his 
seat  to  a  bench  nearer  Broadway.  Here  he  found 
himself  facing  another  eating-room,  in  the  broad 
windows  of  which,  many  kinds  of  food  were  al 
luringly  displayed.  Men  came  out  and  lirlgered 
in  the  door-way  long  enough  to  light  a  cigarette. 


98  OUTLINES   IN    LOCAL   COLOR 

When  McDowell  Sutro  noted  this,  the  crav 
ing  for  tobacco  seized  him.  A  smoke  would  not 
stay  his  stomach.,  but  it  would  be  a  solace  none 
the  less.  lie  rose  to  his  feet  and  felt  in  all  his 
pockets,  in  the  vain  hope  that  his  fingers  might 
touch  some  overlooked  fragment  of  a  cigar. 
There  was  something  at  the  bottom  of  one  of  the 
pockets  of  his  coat,  but  it  mocked  him  by  re 
vealing  itself  as  a  match.  He  sank  down  on  the 
bench  and  turned  his  eyes  away  from  the  res 
taurant,  for  he  could  not  bear  to  gaze  on  the 
cakes  and  pies  piled  up  behind  the  plate-glass, 
or  to  observe  the  smoke  curling  up  from  the  lips 
of  men  who  had  eaten  and  drunk  abundantly. 

There  was  a  bar-room  under  the  hotel  on  the 
corner  of  Broadway,  and  every  now  and  then  two 
or  three  men  pushed  inside  the  swinging  doors, 
to  reappear  five  or  ten  minutes  later.  Farther 
down  Broadway  stood  a  theatre,  and  there  was 
now  a  throng  about  its  broad  door-way.  An 
other  theatre  faced  the  square,  gay  with  pris 
matic  signs  and  besprinkled  with  electric  lights. 
McDowell  Sutro  watched  men  and  women  step 
up  to  the  box-office  of  this  place  of  amusement 
and  buy  their  tickets  and  disappear  within.  He 
wondered  why  these  men  and  women  should 
have  money  to  spare  on  a  show,  when  he  had 
not  enough  to  pay  for  a  meal  and  a  night's 
lodging. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  fatigue  of  his  useless  day, 
and  perhaps  it  was  the  hypnotic  influence  of  the 


THE    VIGIL    OF    MCDOWELL    SUTRO  99 

revolving  lights  before  the  variety  theatre,  which 
caused  the  lonely  young  man  to  fall  asleep.  How 
long  he  slept  he  did  not  know,  nor  what  waked 
him  at  last.  But  he  had  a  doubtful  memory  of 
a  human  touch  upon  his  body,  and  three  of  his 
pockets  were  turned  inside  out.  When  he  dis 
covered  this,  he  laughed  outright.  The  attempt 
to  rob  him  then  struck  him  as  the  funniest  thing 
that  had  ever  happened. 

He  must  have  slept  for  two  or  three  hours 
at  least,  for  the  appearance  of  the  square  had 
changed.  It  was  no  longer  evening  ;  it  was  now 
night.  While  he  looked  about  him  he  saw  the 
doors  of  the  theatre  in  Broadway  pushed  open, 
and  the  audience  began  to  pour  forth.  A  few 
moments  later  little  knots  of  the  play  -  goers 
passe.d  him,  still  laughing  with  remembrance  of 
the  farce  they  had  been  witnessing.  In  another 
quarter  of  an  hour  the  people  began  to  come  out 
of  the  other  theatre,  the  variety  show  on  the 
square,  and  the  lights  that  flared  above  the  door 
way  went  out,  all  at  once. 

It  was  nearly  midnight  when  two  men  sat  down 
on  the  bench  of  which  McDowell  Sutro  had  been 
the  sole  occupant  hitherto.  They  were  tall  and 
thin,  both  of  them  ;  they  were  clean  -  shaven  ; 
their  clothes  were  shabby  ;  and  yet  they  carried 
themselves  with  an  indescribable  air.  as  though 
they  were  accustomed  to  brave  the  gaze  of  the 
world. 

•'•'  Xo."  said  the  elder  of  the  two.  continuing 


100  OUTLINES    IN    LOCAL   COLOR 

their  conversation,  "she's  no  good.  She  has  a 
figure  like  a  flat-iron  and  a  voice  like  a  fog-horn, 
hasn't  she  ?  Well,  there's  no  draft  in  that,  is 
there  ?  She's  a  Jonah,  that's  what  she  is,  and 
she'd  hoo-doo  any  show.  Why,  the  last  time  I 
was  on  the  road  she  tried  to  queer  my  act.  I 
called  her  down  right  there  and  then,  and  when 
the  star  hacked  her  up,  I  was  going  to  give  my 
two  weeks'  notice  ;  and  I'd  have  done  it,  too, 
but  I  was  playing  cases  then,  and  I  didn't  want 
to  come  back  here  walking  on  my  uppers.  But 
if  I  had  quit,  they'd  have  closed  in  a  month,  I 
tell  you  !  They  didn't  know  who  was  drawing 
the  money  to  their  old  show  ;  but  I  did  !  You 
ought  to  have  been  in  the  one  -  night  towns 
on  the  oil  circuit  and  heard  me  do  Shamus 
O'Brien.  That  used  to  fetch  'em  every  night — 
I  tell  you  it  did  !  And  it  used  to  make  her 
tired  !" 

"Did  you  ever  see  me  play  Laertes  ?"  asked 
the  younger.  "  I  did  it  first  in  'Frisco  in  '72, 
when  Larry  Barrett  came  out  there.  Well,  while 
I  was  on  the  stage  with  him,  Hamlet  didn't  get 
a  hand.  I've  got  a  notice  here  now  that  said  I 
was  the  Greatest  Living  Laertes." 

"  I  played  lago  once  with  Larry  Barrett,"  said 
the  first  speaker,  "and  I  gave  them  such  a  real 
istic  impersonation  they  used  to  hiss  me  off  the 
stage  almost." 

"  Have  a  cigarette  ?"  asked  the  other,  holding 
out  a  package. 


THE    VIGIL    OF    MCDOWELL    SUTRO  101 

((  Don't  care  if  I  do,"  was  the  answer.  "  I've 
got  a  match.''7 

'•'  That's  lucky,  for  I  haven't/"  said  the  owner 
of  the  cigarettes.  ;  ;\: 

'•'  Well,  I  haven't,  after  all."  the  elder  actor  had 
to  confess,  after  a  vain  se3>ch  ih'hh.p^tfj^ts.'  /'"' 

•'•'  Let  me  provide  the  match,"  broke  in  McDow 
ell  Sutro.  *'•  I've  only  one,  but  it's  at  your  ser 
vice.'' 

'•Thank  you/''  was  the  response.  "Can  I  not 
offer  you  a  cigarette  ?" 

"  I  don't  care  if  I  do."  the  young  man  answer 
ed,  involuntarily  repeating  the  phrase  he  had 
just  heard,  as  he  thrust  out  his  hand  eagerly. 

The  first  whiff  of  the  smoke  was  like  meat 
and  drink  to  him  ;  and  in  the  sensuous  enjoy 
ment  of  the  luxury  he  almost  neglected  to  re 
spond  to  the  remark  addressed  to  him.  But  in 
a  minute  he  found  himself  chatting  with  the 
two  actors  pleasantly.  Although  they  had  been 
to  California  more  than  once,  they  knew  none 
of  his  friends  ;  but  it  cheered  merely  to  hear 
again  the  names  of  familiar  landmarks.  There 
was  more  than  a  suggestion  of  haughtiness  in  the 
way  they  both  condescended  to  him  ;  but  he  did 
not  resent  this,  even  if  he  remarked  it.  Human 
companionship  was  sweet  to  him  :  and  to  drop 
into  a  chat  with  casual  strangers  on  a  bench  in 
Union  Square  at  midnight,  even  this  diminished 
the  desolation  of  his  loneliness. 

The  talk  lasted  perhaps  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 


102         OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

and  then  the  two  other  men  rose  to  go.  Mc 
Dowell  Sutro  stood  up  also,  as  though  he  were 
at  home  and  they  were  his  guests. 

"Ccme  over -and.  have  a  drink,"  said  the  elder 
of  the  two-.      ....     . 

•  Arid  again  the  yptmg-  man  answered,  "  I  don't 
care  if  I  do." 

He  would  rather  have  had  food  than  drink, 
but  he  could  not  tell  two  strangers  that  he -was 
hungry. 

As  they  passed  before  the  statue  of  Lafay 
ette  and  crossed  the  car  tracks,  he  wondered 
whether  the  saloon  where  they  were  going  to 
was  one  of  those  which  set  out  a  free  lunch. 

When  they  entered  the  bar-room  his  eyes  swept 
it  wolfishly,  and  then  fixed  themselves  at  the 
end  of  the  counter,  where  there  were  broad 
dishes  with  cheese  and  crackers  and  sandwiches. 
He  could  hardly  control  himself  ;  he  wanted  to 
rush  there  and  snatch  the  food  and  devour  it. 
But  shame  kept  him  standing  near  the  door  with 
the  two  actors,  though  his  gaze  was  fastened  on 
the  dishes  only  a  few  feet  from  him. 

The  barkeeper  set  the  bottle  before  them,  and 
they  poured  out  the  liquor.  Then  they  looked 
at  each  other  and  said,  "How  !" 

The  elder  actor  half  finished  his  drink  at  a 
single  gulp.  As  he  set  down  his  glass  he  caught 
McDowell  Sutro  staring  at  the  free  lunch. 

"That's  not  a  bad  idea,"  he  said,  moving  along 
the  bar  —  "not  half  bad.  I'll  take  a  sandwich 


THE  VIGIL  OF  MCDOWELL  SUTRO          103 

myself.  I  feel  a  bit  hollow  to-night.  I  got  three 
encores  after  I  gaye  them  the  '  Pride  of  Battery 
B,'  and  I  need  something  to  build  me  up.  Have 
a  sandwich  ?" 

"I  don't  care  if  I  do/"  responded  the  hungry 
man,  as  his  fingers  closed  on  the  bread.  Yet  when 
he  took  the  first  mouthful  it  almost  choked  him. 

Five  minutes  later  he  had  said  good-night  to 
his  two  chance  acquaintances  and  he  Avas  again 
back  in  the  square.  The  scant  food  he  had  been 
able  to  take  lay  hard  in  his  stomach,  and  the 
liquor  he  had  drunk,  little  as  that  was  also,  was 
yet  enough  to  make  his  head  whirl.  He  did  not 
walk  unsteadily,  although  he  was  conscious  that 
it  took  an  effort  for  him  to  carry  himself  with 
out  swerving. 

The  bench  on  which  he  had  been  sitting  was 
now  occupied  by  four  very  young  men  in  even 
ing  dress,  who  were  gravely  smoking  pipes,  as 
though  they  were  trying  to  acquire  a  taste  for 
this  novel  pastime.  So  he  went  to  the  centre 
of  the  square,  where  he  stood  for  a  while  looking 
at  the  aquatic  plants  and  listening  to  the  spurtle 
of  the  fountain. 

All  the  seats  around  the  fountain  were  occu 
pied  by  men  and  women,  most  of  whom  seemed  to 
have  settled  themselves  for  the  night,  as  though 
they  were  used  to  sleeping  there.  McDowell 
Sutro  found  himself  speculating  whether  he,  too, 
would  soon  be  accustomed  to  spending  his  nights 
in  the  open  air,  without  a  roof  over  him. 


104  OUTLINES    IN    LOCAL    COLOR 

One  solid  German  had  fallen  into  a  slumber 
so  heavy  that  his  snore  became  a  lond  snort. 
Then  a  gray-coated  policeman  waked  the  sleeper 
by  smiting  the  soles  of  his  feet  with  the  club. 

"This  park  ain't  no  bedroom/'  said  the  police 
man,  "  and  I  ain't  goin'  to  have  you  fellows 
goin'  to  sleep  here  either  !  See  ?" 

After  walking  three  or  four  times  around  on 
the  outer  circle  of  the  little  park,  the  young  man 
found  a  vacant  seat  on  a  bench  near  the  corner 
of  Broadway  and  Seventeenth  Street.  The  brill 
iantly  lighted  cable-cars  still  glided  swiftly  up 
and  down  Broadway  with  their  insistent  gongs, 
but  they  were  now  fewer  and  fewer  ;  and  the 
cross-town  horse-cars  passed  only  two  or  three 
an  hour.  The  long  day  of  the  city  was  nearly 
over  at  last,  and  for  the  two  or  three  hours  be 
fore  dawn  there  would  be  peace  and  a  cessation 
of  the  struggle. 

As  he  sat  back  on  the  bench,  sick  with  weari 
ness,,  t]ie  occupant  of  the  seat  next  to  him  aroused 
herself.  She  was  an  elderly  woman,  with  grizzled 
hair. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon — if  I  waked  you  up  ?" 
said  the  young  man. 

"You  did  wake  me  up,"  she  answered,  "but 
I  forgive  you.  It's  only  cat-naps  I  get  anyway 
nowadays.  I  haven't  stretched  my  legs  out  be 
tween  the  sheets  and  had  my  fill  of  sleep  for  a 
month  of  Sundays.  And  I'm  a  glutton  for  sleep 
ing  if  I've  the  chance.  Bat  I'm  getting  used  to 


THE    VIGIL    OF    McDOWELL    SUTRO  105 

sitting  up  late,"  and  she  laughed  without  bit 
terness.  "What  time  is  it  now  ;"  she  asked. 

McDowell  Sutro  involuntarily  lifted  his  hand 
to  the  pocket  of  his  waistcoat,  and  then  he 
dropped  it  quickly.  Blushing,  he  answered,  '•  I 
don't  know — I — " 

"  Time's  up,  isn't  it  ff  she  returned,  with  a 
lauorh  of  understand  ins:.  "  I  haven't  sot  mv 

O  »•-  <_  fc 

watch  with  me  either :  I  left  it  in  my  other 
clothes  at  my  uncle's.  But  Mr.  Tiffany  is  a  kind- 
hearted  man.  and  lie  keeps  a  clock  all  lighted 
up  for  us  to  see.  Your  eyes  are  younger  than 
mine — what  time  is  it  now  ?" 

McDowell  Sutro  looked  intently  for  half  a 
minute  before  he  could  make  out  the  hour.  At 
last  he  answered,  "It's  almost  half-past  one.  I 
think." 

••  Then  I've  a  couple  of  hours  for  another  nap 
before  the  sparrows  wake  us  all  up."  she  return 
ed.  •"•'  Is  it  the  first  night  you  have  come  to  this 
hotel  of  ours  ?" 

'•'Yes,"  he  replied. 

'•'  I  thought  so,"  she  continued.  "  by  your  feel 
ing  for  your  watch.  You'll  get  out  of  the  way 
of  doing  that  soon." 

His  face  blanched  with  fear  that  she  might  be 
predicting  the  truth.  Would  the  time  ever  come 
when  he  should  be  used  to  sleeping  in  the  open 
air  ? 

The  old  woman  turned  a  little,  so  that  she 
could  look  at  him. 


106        OUTLINES  1^  LOCAL  COLOU 

"  It's  a  handsome  young  fellow  you  are/'  she 
went  on  ;  "there's  more  than  one  house  in  town 
where  they'd  take  you  in  on  your  looks  —  and 
tuck  you  up  in  bed,  too,  and  keep  you  warm." 

"  Perhaps  I'm  better  off  here,"  he  remarked, 
feeling  that  he  was  expected  to  say  something. 

"  This  isn't  a  bad  hotel  of  ours,  this  isn't," 
she  returned  ;  "  it's  well  ventilated,  for  one 
thing.  Of  course  you  can  go  to  the  station-house 
if  you  want.  I  don't.  I've  tried  it,  and  I'd 
sooner  sleep  in  the  snow  than  in  the  station- 
house,  with  the  creatures  you  meet  there.  This 
hotel  of  ours  here  keeps  open  all  night ;  and  it's 
on  the  European  plan,  I'm  thinking — leastwise 
you  can  have  anything  you  can  pay  for.  When 
the  owl-wagon  is  here,  you  can  get  a  late  sup 
per — if  you  have  the  price  of  it.  I  haven't." 

"  Neither  have  I,"  he  answered. 

"  Then  there's  two  of  us  ready  for  an  invite 
to  breakfast,"  she  responded,  cheerily.  "'If  any 
one  asks  us,  it's  no  previous  engagement  will 
make  us  decline,  I'm  thinking." 

He  made  no  answer,  for  his  heart  sank  as  he 
looked  into  the  future. 

"Are  you  hungry  now  ?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  simply. 

"  So  am  I,"  she  replied,  "  and  I  can't  get  used 
to  it.  Hunger  is  like  pain,  isn't  it  ?  It  don't 
let  go  of  you  ;  it  don't  get  tired  and  let  up  on 
you.  It's  a  stayer,  that's  Avhat  it  is,  and  it  keeps 
right  on  attending  strictly  to  business.  Some- 


THE   VIGIL   OF    McDOWELL   SUTRO  107 

times,  when  I'm  very  hungry.  I  feel  like  commit 
ting  suicide,  don't  you  ?" 

"Xo."  he  responded— •'•'  at  least,  not  yet;  I 
haven't  had  enough  of  life  to  he  tired  of  it  so 
soon." 

"  Neither  have  I."  was  her  answer.  "Some 
times  I'm  ready  to  quit,  but  somehow  I  don't  do 
it.  But  it  would  be  so  easy  ;  you  throw  your 
self  in  front  of  one  of  those  cable-cars  coming 
down  Broadway  now— and  you'll  get  rapid  tran 
sit  to  kingdom  come.  But  they  don't  sell  ex 
cursion  tickets.  Besides,  being  crunched  by  a 
cable-car  is  a  dreadful  mussy  way  of  dying,  don't 
you  think?  And  to-day's  Friday.,  too  — and  I 
don't  believe  Fd  ever  have  any  luck  in  the  next 
world  if  I  was  to  commit  suicide  on  a  Fri 
day." 

"  This  isn't  Friday  any  longer,"  he  suggested  ; 
"it's  Saturday  morning." 

"'So  it  is  now,"  she  rejoined ;  "'then  we'd  bet 
ter  be  getting  our  beauty-sleep  as  soon  as  we  can, 
for  the  flower-market  here  will  wake  us  up  soon 
enough,  seeing  it's  Saturday.  And  so,  good-night 
to  you  !" 

"  Good-night  !"  he  responded. 

'•And  may  you  dream  you've  found  a  million 
dollars  in  gold,  and  then  wake  up  and  find  it 
true  !"  she  continued. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  replied,  wondering  what 
manner  of  woman  his  neighbor  might  be. 

She    said   nothing   more,   but    settled  herself 


108         OUTLINES  IK  LOCAL  COLOR 

again  and  closed  her  eyes.  She  was  dressed  in 
rusty  black,  and  she  had  a  thin  black  shawl  over 
her  head.  She  had  been  a  very  handsome  wom 
an — so  she  impressed  the  young  man  by  her  side 
— and  he  was  wholly  at  a  loss  to  guess  how  she 
came  to  be  here,  in  the  street,  at  night,  without 
money  and  alone.  She  seemed  out  of  place  there  ; 
for  her  manner,  though  independent,  was  not 
defiant.  There  was  no  rasping  harshness  in  her 
tones  ;  indeed,  her  talk  was  dashed  with  jovial 
ity.  Her  speech  even  puzzled  him,  although  he 
thought  that  showed  her  to  be  Irish. 

Turning  these  things  over  in  his  mind,  he  fell 
asleep.  He  dreamed  the  same  dream  again  and 
again — a  dream  of  a  barbaric  banquet,  where 
huge  outlandish  dishes  were  placed  on  the  table 
before  him.  The  savor  of  them  was  strange  to 

O 

his  nostrils,  but  it  brought  the  water  to  his 
mouth.  Then,  when  he  made  as  though  to  help 
himself  and  stay  his  appetite,  the  whole  feast 
slid  away  beyond  his  reach,  and  finally  faded 
into  nothing.  The  dream  differed  in  detail 
every  time  he  dreamed  it ;  and  the  last  time  the 
only  dish  on  the  board  before  him  was  a  gigantic 
pasty,  which  he  succeeded  in  cutting  open,  only 
to  behold  four-and-twenty  blackbirds  fly  forth. 
The  birds  circled  about  his  head,  and  then  re 
turned  to  the  empty  shell  of  the  pasty,  and 
perched  there,  and  sang  derisively. 

So  loudly  did  they  sing  that  McDowell  Sutro 
awoke,  and  he  heard  in  the  trees  above  him  and 


THE    VIGIL    OF    MCDOWELL    SUTRO  109 

behind  him  the  chirping  and  twittering  of  count 
less  sparrows. 

He  recalled  what  the   old  woman  had   said- 
that  the  birds  would  wake  them  up.     Probably 
they  had  aroused  her  first,  for  the  place  on  the 
bench  next  to  him  was  empty. 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  looked  about  him.  It 
was  almost  daybreak,  and  already  there  were 
rosy  streaks  in  the  eastern  sky.  A  squirrel  was 
running  up  and  down  a  large  tree  in  the  middle 
of  the  grass-plot  behind  the  bench  on  which  he 
had  been  sleeping.  In  the  open  space  at  the 
northern  end  of  the  square  there  were  a  dozen 
or  more  gardeners'  wagons,  thick  with  growing 
flowers  in  pots,  and  men  were  arranging  these 
plants  in  rows  upon  the  pavement.  Another 
heavy  wagon,  loaded  with  roses  only,  rolled  across 
the  car  track  and  disturbed  a  flock  of  pigeons 
that  swirled  aloft  for  a  moment  and  then  settled 
down  again.  A  moist  breeze  blew  up  from  the 
bay.  and  brought  a  warning  of  rain  to  come  later 
in  the  day. 

The  sleepers  on  the  other  benches  here  and 
there  throughout  the  square  were  waking,  one 
by  one.  McDowell  Sutro  saw  one  of  them  go  to 
the  drinking-fountain  and  wash  his  hands  and 
face.  He  followed  this  example  as  best  he  could. 
When  he  had  made  an  end  of  this  his  eye  fell 
on  Tiffany's  clock,  which  told  the  hour  of  half- 
past  four/  A  few  minutes  later  the  first  rays  of 
the  sun  began  to  gild  the  cornices  of  the  tall 


110        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

buildings   which    towered    above    the    Lincoln 
statue. 

Within  the  next  hour  and  a  half  the  cable- 
cars  began  to  pass  down -town  more  frequently, 
and  the  cross-town  cars  from  the  ferries  also 
came  closer  together.  The  gardeners7  wagons 
and  the  plants  taken  from  them  filled  the  broad 
space  at  the  upper  end  of  the  square.  Milk-carts 
rattled  across  the  car  tracks  that  bounded  the 
square  on  all  four  sides.  The  signs  of  the  com 
ing  day  multiplied,  and  McDowell  Sutro  noted 
them  all,  one  after  another,  with  unfailing  in 
terest,  despite  the  gnawing  pain  in  his  stomach. 
It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  seen  the  awaken 
ing  of  a  great  city. 

He  walked  away  from  Union  Square  as  far  as 
Fifth  Avenue  and  Twenty -third  Street,  and 
again  as  far  as  Third  Avenue  and  Fourteenth 
Street ;  but  he  found  himself  always  returning 
to  the  flower-market.  At  last  a  hope  sprang  up 
within  him.  Among  the  purchasers  were  ladies 
not  strong  enough  to  carry  home  the  heavy  pots, 
and  perhaps  he  might  pick  up  a  job.  This  was 
not  the  way  he  wanted  to  earn  his  daily  bread, 
but  never  before  had  he  felt  the  want  of  the  daily 
bread  so  keenly. 

When  he  came  back  to  the  line  of  gardeners' 
wagons  he  found  other  men  out  of  work  also  hang 
ing  about  in  the  hope  of  making  an  honest  penny ; 
and  more  than  once  he  saw  one  or  another  of 
these  others  sent  away,  burdened  with  tall  plants. 


THE    VIGIL    OF    MCDOWELL    SUTKO  111 

At  last  he  took  his  courage  in  his  hand,  and 
went  up  to  a  little  old  lady  whom  he  had  seen 
going  from  row  to  row.  She  had  bright  eyes 
and  a  gentle  manner  and  a  kindly  smile.  He 
asked  her,  if  she  bought  anything,  to  let  him 
carry  it  home  for  her.  She  looked  at  the  hand 
some  young  fellow,  and  her  glance  was  as  shrewd 
as  it  seemed  to  him  sympathetic. 

••Yes/"  she  answered,  •'•' I  think  I  can  trust 
you." 

A  minute  or  two  later  she  bargained  with  a 
Scotch  gardener  for  two  azaleas  in  full  bloom. 
Then  she  turned  to  McDowell  Sutro : 

"Will  you  take  those  to  the  Post-Graduate 
Hospital,  corner  of  Second  Avenue  and  Twen 
tieth  Street,  for  half  a  dollar  ?" 

*•'  Yes,"  he  answered,  eagerly. 

'•Very  well."  she  responded.  "They  are  for 
the  Babies'  Wards.  Say  that  they  are  from  Miss 
Van  Dyne.  The  Babies'  Wards,  you  understand? 
And  here  is  your  money.  I've  got  to  trust  you; 
but  you  have  an  honest  face,  and  I  don't  believe 
that  you  would  rob  sick  children  of  the  sight 
and  smell  of  the  flowers  they  love." 

"Xo/'said  McDowell  Sutro.  "I  wouldn't.'' 
He  picked  up  the  heavy  pots,  and  held  one  in 
the  hollow  of  each  arm.  •'*  The  Babies'  Wards  of 
the  Post  -  Graduate  Hospital,  from  Miss  Van 
Dyne  ?  Is  that  it  ?" 

"  That's  it."  she  answered,  with  her  illuminat 
ing  smile. 


112  OUTLINES    IN    LOCAL    COLOR 

He  walked  off  with  the  plants.  Having  the 
money  in  his  pocket  to  break  his  fast,  it  seemed 
as  though  he  could  not  get  to  the  hospital  swiftly 
enough.  But  when  he  had  handed  in  the  flowers, 
and  was  on  his  way  back  again  to  the  square,  he 
remembered  suddenly  the  woman  who  had  sat 
by  him  on  the  bench,  and  who  had  been  hungry 
also.  He  had  fifty  cents  in  his  pocket  now,  and 
in  the  window  of  an  eating-house  on  Fourth 
Avenue  he  saw  the  sign,  "  Regular  Breakfast,  25 
cts/'  He  had  money  enough  to  buy  two  regular 
breakfasts,  one  for  himself  and  one  for  her. 

He  made  the  circle  of  the  little  park  three 
times,  besides  traversing  it  in  every  direction, 
and  then  he  had  to  confess  that  she  was  beyond 
his  reach. 

So  he  went  to  the  restaurant  alone,  and  had  a 
regular  breakfast  all  to  himself. 

When  he  came  forth  he  felt  refreshed,  and  the 
people  who  were  now  hurrying  along  the  streets 
struck  him  as  happier  than  those  he  had  seen  in 
the  gray  dawn.  The  long  sunbeams  were  light 
ing  the  side  streets.  The  workmen  with  their 

O 

dinner-pails  were  giving  place  to  the  shop-girls 
with  their  luncheons  tied  up  in  paper. 

The  roar  of  the  great  city  arose  once  more  as 
the  mighty  tide  of  humanity  again  swept  through 
its  thoroughfares. 

He  went  back  to  the  gardeners'  wagons,  believ 
ing  that  he  might  earn  another  half-dollar.  But 
when  he  saw  other  men  waiting  there  hungrily, 


i$i 


"THE  PEOPLE  STRUCK  HIM  AS  HAPPIER" 


THE   VIGIL  OF    MCDOWELL   SUTKO  113 

he  turned  away,  thinking  it  only  fair  to  give 
them  a  chance  too. 

He  found  a  seat  in  the  sun.  and  looked  on 
while  the  flower- market  was  stripped  by  later 
purchasers.  He  wondered  where  the  plants  were 
all  going,  and  then  he  remembered  that  the  same 
flowers  serve  for  the  funeral  and  for  the  wed 
ding.  For  the  first  time  it  struck  him  as  strange 
that  the  plant  which  dresses  a  dinner-table  to 
day  may  gladden  a  sick-room  to-morrow,  and  be 
bedded  on  a  grave  tbe  day  after. 

At  last  he  thought  the  hour  had  come  when 
the  post-office  would  be  open  again,  and  he  set 
off  for  Fifth  Avenue  and  Thirteenth  .Street. 

\Vhen  he  reached  the  station  he  checked  his 
walk.  He  did  not  dare  go  hi,  although  the 
doors  were  open,  and  he  could  see  other  men 
and  women  asking  questions  at  the  little  square 
windows.  What  if  his  questions  should  meet 
with  the  same  answer  as  yesterday  ?  What  if 
he  should  have  to  spend  another  night  in  Union 
Square  ? 

He  nerved  himself  at  last  and  entered.  As  he 
approached  the  window  the  clerk  looked  at  him 
with  a  glance  of  recognition. 

"  McDowell  Sutro,  isn't  it  ?  Yes — there  is  a 
letter  for  you.  Overweight,  too — there's  four 
cents  extra  postage  to  pay/' 

The  young  man's  hand  trembled  as  he  put 
down  the  quarter  left  after  paying  for  his  regular 
breakfast.  He  seized  the  envelope  swiftly,  and 


114  OUTLINES    IN"    LOCAL   COLOR 

almost  forgot  to  pick  up  his  change,  till  the  clerk 
reminded  him  of  it. 

He  tore  the  letter  open.  It  was  from  Tom 
Pixley ;  it  contained  a  post-office  order  for  fifty 
dollars ;  and  it  began  : 

"Mv  DEAR  MAC, — Go  and  see  Sam  Sargent,  78  Broad 
way,  and  he  will  get  you  a  place  on  the  surveyor's  staff 
for  the  new  line  of  the  Barataria  Central.  I'm  writing  to 
him  by  this  mail,  and—' 

But  for  a  minute  McDowell  Sutro  could  read 
no  further.  His  eyes  had  filled  with  tears. 

(1895) 


0  8  H  -S  H  £  II  ®  ID  ®  «  ®  Iti  8  111  8  III  S  III  9  ill . 


(oonflict 


summer  sun  had  blazed  down  all 
on  t^le  ^ow  wooden  roof  of  the 
old  shed  lately  used  as  an  ice-cream 
saloon,  and  now  hastily  altered  to  ac 
commodate  a  post  of  the  Salvation 
Army.  Placards  at  the  wide  doorway  proclaimed 
that  All  were  Welcome,  and  besought  the  stranger 
to  Come  in  and  be  Saved.  The  tall  tenements  that- 
lined  the  side-streets  east  and  west  had  emptied 
their  hundreds  of  inhabitants  out  into  the  avenue 
that  evening,  and  the  sidewalks  were  thronged 
with  men  and  women  languid  from  the  heat  of 
the  day,  and  longing  for  the  lazy  breeze  that  some 
times  creeps  into  the  city  with  nightfall  ;  but 
few  of  them  cared  to  enter  the  stifling  hall  where 
the  song-service  was  about  to  begin,  and  that 
night  especially  there  were  many  counter-attrac 
tions  out-doors.  Already  were  the  rockets  be 
ginning  to  burst  far  above  the  square  where  the 
fireworks  were  to  be  displayed  ;  and  now  and 
again  a  boy  (who  had  more  than  boyish  self- 
control)  produced  a  reserve 'pack  of  fire-crackers, 
and  dropped  them  into  a  barrel,  and  capered 
away  with  delight  as  the  owner  of  the  barrel  was 
called  to  his  door  by  the  rattle  of  their  explosion. 
A  pale  and  thin  young  woman,  in  the  uniform 


118        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

of  the  Salvation  Army,  stood  wearily  in  the  en 
trance,  proffering  the  War  Cry  to  all  those  who 
came  near.  She  looked  as  though  she  had  been 
pretty  when  she  was  a  girl.  Now  she  was  ob 
viously  worn  and  weak,  like  one  recovering  from 
a  long  illness.  High  up  over  her  head  appeared 
a  shower  of  colored  stars  shot  forth  from  a  bomb ; 
and  then  she  remembered  how  she  had  seen  the 
fireworks  on  the  last  Fourth  of  July,  only  a  year 
before,  lying  on  her  bed  which  Jim  had  pulled  to 
the  window  before  he  went  down  to  conduct  the 
meeting.  She  had  lain  there  peacefully  with  her 
two-weeks-old  baby  in  her  arms,  and  it  had  seem 
ed  to  her  as  though  the  glowing  wheels  that  re 
volved  in  the  air,  and  the  curving  lines  of  fire 
that  rose  and  fell  again,  were  but  a  prefiguration 
of  a  golden  future  where  all  would  be  splendor 
and  glory.  How  that  vision  had  faded  into 
blackness  in  the  months  that  followed!  —  when 
the  baby  sickened  because  they  had  not  proper 
food  for  him,  and  when  Jim  broke  down  also  ; 
and  she  had  had  to  get  up,  feeble  as  she  was,  and 
nurse  them  both  until  they  died,  one  after  an 
other.  When  she  let  herself  think  of  those  days 
of  despair,  she  had  always  to  make  a  resolute  ef 
fort  if  she  did  not  wish  to  give  way  and  go  into 
a  fit  of  sobbing  that  left  her  exhausted  for  the 
next  twenty-four  hours. 

She  mastered  her  rising  emotion  and  turned 
for  relief  to  the  duty  of  the  moment.  For  five 
minutes  no  one  had  bought  a  paper  from  her,  and 


AN    IRREPRESSIBLE   CONFLICT  119 

the  time  bad  come  to  go  into  the  hall  to  take  part 
in  the  service  of  song. 

She  pushed  inside  the  swinging-door  and  found 
that  perhaps  a  score  of  visitors  had  gathered, 
and  that  already  half  a  dozen  members  of  the 
Salvation  Army  had  taken  their  seats  at  the 
edge  of  the  low  platform  at  the  end  of  the  shal 
low  hall.  Captain  Quigley  was  standing  there, 
with  his  shiny  black  hair  carefully  curled  and  his 
pointed  beard  carefully  combed.  He  was  waiting, 
ready  to  begin,  with  his  accordion  in  his  hands. 

She  wondered  why  it  was  that  she  was  always 
sorry  to  have  Captain  Quigley  lead  the  service. 
She  would  not  deny  that  he  led  well,  giving  a 
swing  to  the  tunes  he  played  that  carried  all  the 
people  off  their  feet :  he  sang  sweetly  and  he  spoke 
feelingly.  But  she  did  not  altogether  like  his 
manner,  which  was  almost  patronizing  ;  and  then 
he  had  a  way  of  bringing  her  suddenly  into  his 
remarks  and  of  calling  her  forward  needlessly. 
Even  after  her  two  years'  service  she  shrank 
from  personalities  and  from  self-exhibition.  Yet 
there  was  no  doubt  that  he  meant  to  be  kind  to 
her,  and  she  knew  that  he  had  allowed  her  spe 
cial  privileges  more  than  once.  With  motherly 
kindness  Adjutant  Willetts  had  asked  her  only 
a  week  before  if  she  really  liked  Captain  Quig 
ley,  telling  her  that  if  she  did  not  like  him,  she 
ought  to  be  careful  not  to  encourage  him,  and 
since  that  talk  with  the  adjutant  her  distaste  for 
the  captain  had  been  intensified. 


120  OUTLINES   IN    LOCAL   COLOft 

It  was  as  though  Captain  Quigley  had  been 
waiting  for  her  to  appear,  for  he  began  to  speak 
as  soon  as  he  saw  her.  In  a  high  nasal  voice  and 
with  an  occasional  elided  aspirate,  he  welcomed 
those  present  and  told  them  he  was  glad  that 
they  had  come.  He  asked  them  all  to  take  part 
In  singing  the  grand  old  hymn,  "  There  Is  a 
Fountain  Filled  with  Blood. "  He  set  the  tune 
with  his  accordion,  and  lined  out  the  first  stanza 
and  led  in  the  singing.  Only  three  or  four  of  the 
chance  visitors  joined  in  the  song,  the  burden 
of  which  was  borne  by  the  members  of  the  Salva 
tion  Army. 

Then  the  captain  told  his  hearers  that  there- 
was  a  new  War  Cry  published  that  very  morn 
ing  full  of  interesting  things,  and  containing  the 
words  of  the  songs  they  would  all  sing  later,  so 
he  wanted  everybody  in  the  hall  to  buy  one,  that 
they  could  all  follow  the  music. 

The  thin  young  woman  with  the  saddened 
face  began  to  move  down  the  aisles  offering  her 
papers  right  and  left. 

"That's the  way,  Sister  Miller/*  called  out  the 
captain,  as  though  to  encourage  her  ;  but  she 
winced  as  she  heard  her  name  thus  thrown  to 
the  public.  "  I  want  you  all  to  buy  Sister  Miller's 
papers,  so  that  she  can  come  up  here  and  join  us 
in  the  singing.  You  don^t  know  what  a  sweet 
voice  Sister  Miller  has — but  we  know/' 

He  continued  to  talk  thus  familiarly  as  she 
made  the  circuit  of  the  seats.  When  she  had 


AX   IKREPEESSIBLE   CONFLICT  121 

taken  her  place  on  the  platform  by  the  side  of 
Adjutant  Willetts,  who  smiled  at  her  with  mater 
nal  affection  in  her  eye.  then  suddenly  the  cap 
tain  changed  his  tone.  "  Xow  we  will  ask  the 
Lord  to  bless  us — to  bless  us  all,  to  bless  this 
meeting.  I  don't  know  why  any  of  you  have 
come  here  to-night,  but  I  do  know  this  :  if  you 
have  come  here  for  God's  blessing,  you  will  get 
it.  If  you  have  come  here  for  something  else. 
I  don't  know  whether  you  will  get  it  :  but  if 
you  have  come  here  for  that  you  will  surely  get 
it.  God  always  gives  His  blessing  to  all  who  ask 
for  it.  Brother  Higginson,  will  you  lead  us  in 
prayer  ?" 

The  men  and  women  on  the  platform  fell  on 
their  knees,  and  the  most  of  those  scattered  about 
the  hull  bowed  their  heads  reverently,  while 
Brother  Higginson  prayed  that  the  blessing  of 
God  might  descend  upon  them  that  night.  Sis 
ter  Miller  had  heard  Brother  Higginson  lead  in 
prayer  many  times  and  she  knew  almost  to  a 
word  what  he  was  likely  to  say.  for  the  range  of 
his  appeal  was  limited  :  but  she  always  thrilled  a 
little  at  the  simple  fervor  of  the  man.  It  an 
noyed  her.  as  usual,  to  have  the  captain  punctu 
ate  the  appeal  of  Brother  Higginson  with  an  oc 
casional  "Amen  !  Amen  T*  or  "  Hallelujah  lv 

After  the  prayer  there  was  another  gospel 
song,  and  then  the  captain  laid  aside  his  accor 
dion  and  took  up  a  Bible.  He  read  a  passage 
from  the  Old  Testament  describing  the  advance 


122        OUTLINES  IK  LOCAL  COLOR 

of  the  Children  of  Israel  into  the  desert,  guided 
by  a  pillar  of  cloud  by  day  and  a  pillar  of  fire 
by  night.  He  held  the  book  in  his  hand  while 
he  expounded  his  text.  The  Children  of  Israel 
had  their  loins  girded  to  fight  the  good  fight,  he 
said.  That  is  what  every  people  has  to  do  ;  the 
Israelites  had  to  do  it,  the  English  had  to  do 
it,  the  Americans  had  to  do  it.  They  all  knew 
what  the  Fourth  of  July  stood  for  and  how  well 
Americans  fought  then,  more  than  a  hundred 
years  ago;  and  so  saying  he  seized  the  flag  which 
had  been  leaning  against  the  wall  behind  him, 
by  the  side  of  the  blood-red  banner  of  the  Salva 
tion  Army. 

As  he  was  waving  the  Stars  and  Stripes  Sister 
Miller  felt  her  dislike  accentuated,  for  she  knew 
that  the  captain  was  an  Englishman  who  had 
been  here  but  a  few  years,  and  it  seemed  to  her 
mean  of  him  to  be  taking  sides  against  his  native 
land.  She  wondered  if  he  was  really  ignorant 
enough  to  think  that  one  of  the  great  battles  of 
the  Kevolution  had  been  fought  on  the  Fourth  of 
July. 

Then  her  mind  went  back  to  her  girlhood,  and 
she  recalled  the  last  celebration  of  the  Fourth 
that  had  taken  place  in  the  old  school-house  at 
home  the  summer  before  she  graduated.  She 
remembered  how  old  Judge  Standish  read  the 
Declaration  of  Independence  with  a  magnificent 
air  of  proprietorship,  as  though  he  had  just 
dashed  it  off.  Other  incidents  of  that  day  came 


AX    IRREPRESSIBLE   CONFLICT  123 

floating  back  to  her  memory  as  she  sat  there  in 
the  thick  air  of  the  little  hall,  and  she  ceased  to 
hear  Captain  Quigley  calling  urgently  on  all  those 
present  to  be  Soldiers  of  God.  In  her  ears  there 
echoed,  instead,  the  pleading  words  of  young 
Dexter  Standish,  telling  her  that  he  was  going  to 
the  Xaval  Academy  and  that  he  wanted  her  to 
wait  for  him  till  he  should  come  back.  She  had 
given  her  promise,  and  why  had  she  not  kept  her 
word  ?  Why  had  she  been  foolishly  jealous  when 
she  heard  that  he  was  the  best  dancer  in  his  class 
at  Annapolis,  and  that  all  the  Baltimore  girls 
were  wild  to  dance  with  him.  •  She  had  long  ago 
discovered  that  her  reason  for  breaking  off  the 
engagement  was  wholly  inadequate  ;  and,  in  her 
folly,  she  had  not  foreseen  that  Dexter  could  not 
leave  the  Academy  and  come  to  her  and  explain. 
If  only  he  had  presented  himself  and  told  her  he 
loved  her  she  would  have  forgiven  him.  even  if 
he  had  really  deserved  punishment.  But  he  was 
a  cadet,  and  he  would  not  have  a  leave  of  absence 
for  another  year.  Before  that  year  was  out,  she 
had  married  James  Miller,  a  theological  student, 
who  soon  threw  up  all  his  studies  in  hfs  religious 
zeal  to  join  the  Salvation  Army,  as  though  crav 
ing  martyrdom.  Jim  had  loved  her,  and  he  had 
thought  she  loved  him.  It  was  with  a  swift  pang 
of  ^reproach  that  she  found  herself  asking  wheth 
er  it  was  not  better  for  Jim  that  he  had  died 
before  he  found  out  that  his  wife  did  not  love 
him  as  he  loved  her. 


124        OUTLINES  IN"  LOCAL  COLOR 

With  the  ingenuity  that  came  of  long  experi 
ence.,  Captain  Quigley  had  ended  his  address  with 
a  quotation  from  "Onward,  Christian  Soldiers," 
and  Sister  Miller  was  roused  from  her  reverie  to 
take  part  in  the  chorus.  When  they  had  sung 
three  stanzas  the  captain  stopped  abruptly  and 
turned  to  the  gray-haired  woman  who  sat  beside 
Sister  Miller,  and  called  on  Adjutant  Willetts  to 
say  a  few  words  of  loving  greeting  to  the  souls 
waiting  to  be  saved. 

To  Sister  Miller  it  was  a  constant  delight  to  be 
with  the  adjutant,  to  be  comforted  by  her  moth 
erly  smile  and  to  be  sustained  by  her  cheerful 
faith.  There  was  a  Quaker  simplicity  about  Sis 
ter  Willetts,  and  a  Quaker  strength  of  character 
that  the  wan  and  worn  Sister  Miller  had  found 
she  could  always  rely  upon.  And  another  char 
acteristic  of  the  elder  woman's  endeared  her  also 
to  the  younger  :  her  religious  fervor  was  as  fresh 
as  it  Avas  sincere,  and  she  gave  her  testimony  night 
after  night  with  the  same  force  and  the  same 
feeling  that  she  had  given  it  the  first  time.  Too 
many  of  the  others  had  reduced  what  they  had  to 
say  to  a  mere  formula,  modified  but  little  and 
delivered  at  last  in  almost  mechanical  fashion. 
But  Sister  Willetts  stood  forward  on  the  platform 
and  bore  witness  to  her  possession  of  the  peace  of 
God  which  passe th  all  understanding ;  and  she  did 
this  most  modestly,  with  neither  shyness  nor  tim 
idity,  merely  as  though  she  were  doing  her  duty 
gladly  in  declaring  what  God  had  done  for  her. 


AX    IRREPRESSIBLE    CONFLICT  125 

When  the  adjutant  had  made  an  end  of  speak 
ing  and  had  taken  her  seat  by  the  side  of  the 
pale  young  woman,  who  smiled  back  at  her 
again.  Captain  Quigley  grasped  his  accordion 
once  more. 

"  Xow  you  shall  have  a  solo,"  he  said.  "  Sister 
Miller  will  sing  that  splendid  old  hymn.  •'  Kock 
of  Ages/  Come.,  Sister  Miller.  *' 

Her  voice  had  no  great  power,  but  it  sufficed 
for  that  little  hall.  She  did  not  like  to  stand 
forward  conspicuously,  but  the  singing  itself 
she  always  enjoyed.  Sometimes  she  was  almost 
able  to  forget  herself  as  she  poured  out  her  soul 
in  song. 

On  that  Fourth  of  July  evening  she  had  not 
more  than  begun  when  she  became  conscious 
that  somebody  was  staring  at  her  with  an  in 
tensity  quite  different  from  the  ordinary  gaze 
of  curiosity  to  which  she  was  accustomed.  She 
obeyed  the  impulse,  and  looked  down  into  the 
eyes  of  Dexter  Standish  fixed  upon  her  as  though 
he  had  come  to  claim  possession  of  her  at  once. 

So  unexpected  was  this  vision,  and  so  enfeebled 
was  her  self-control,  that  her  voice  faltered,  and 
she  almost  broke  off  in  the  middle  of  a  line.  But 
she  stiffened  herself,  and  though  she  felt  the  blood 
dyeing  her  face,  she  sang  on  sturdily.  Her  first 
thought  was  to  run  away — to  run  away  at  once 
and  hide  herself,  somewhere,  anywhere,  so  that 
she  were  only  out  of  his  sight.  He  had  not  seen 
her  for  six  years  and  more,  and  in  those  weary 


126        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

years  she  had  lost  her  youth  and  her  looks.  She 
knew  that  she  was  110  longer  the  pretty  girl  he 
had  loved,  and  she  shrank  from  his  scrutiny  of 
her  faded  features  and  of  her  shrunken  figure. 

She  could  not  run  away  and  she  could  not 
hide  ;  she  had  to  stand  there  and  let  him  gaze 
at  her  and  discover  how  old  she  looked  and  how 
worn.  She  met  his  eyes  again — he  never  took 
them  from  her — and  it  seemed  to  her  that  they 
were  full  of  pity.  She  resented  this.  What  right 
had  he  to  compassionate  her  ?  She  drew  her  thin 
frame  up  and  sang  the  louder  in  mere  bravado. 
Yet  she  was  glad  when  she  came  to  the  end,  and 
was  able  to  sink  back  into  the  seat  by  the  side 
of  Sister  Willetts. 

The  captain  spoke  up  at  once,  and  said  that  the 
time  had  come  to  take  up  a  collection.  Let  every 
man  give  a  little,  in  proportion  to  his  means, 
no  more  and  no  less.  Would  Sister  Willetts  and 
Sister  Miller  go  about  among  the  people  to  col 
lect  the  offerings  ? 

As  she  picked  up  her  tambourine  she  turned 
impulsively  to  the  elder  woman. 

"  Let  me  go  to  those  near  the  platform, 
please/'  she  begged.  "  Won't  you  take  the  out 
side  rows  ?" 

The  adjutant  looked  down  on  her  a  little  sur 
prised,  but  agreed  at  once. 

The  younger  woman  went  only  a  few  steps 
down  the  aisles,  keeping  as  far  away  from  him 
as  possible.  Whenever  she  glanced  towards  him 


AX    IRREPRESSIBLE   CONFLICT  127 

she  found  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her,  following  her 
everywhere  ;  and  now  it  was  not  pity  she  thought 
she  saw  in  his  look,  but  love — the  same  love  she 
had  seen  in  those  eyes  the  last  time  they  two  had 
stood  face  to  face. 

When  the  tambourines  had  been  extended  tow 
ards  everybody  in  the  hall,  the  two  women  went 
back  to  the  platform  and  the  adjutant  counted 
up  the  money — coppers  and  nickels,  most  of  it, 
and  not  two  dollars  in  all. 

The  captain  kept  on  steadfastly.  He  gave  out 
another  hymn.  When  that  had  been  sung,  he 
turned  to  a  portly  man  who  had  come  in  late  and 
who  was  sitting  on  the  platform  behind  Brother 
Higginson. 

"Brother  Jackinan,*' he  asked,  with  unction, 
"how  is  your  soul  to-night  ?  Can't  you  tell  us 
about  it  ?" 

While  the  portly  man,  standing  uneasily  with 
his  hands  on  the  chair  before  him,  was  briskly 
setting  forth  the  circumstances  of  his  assured 
salvation,  Sister  Miller  was  silent  on  the  plat 
form. 

She  could  not  help  seeing  Dexter  Standish, 
who  was  straight  in  front  of  her.  She  noted  how 
erect  he  was,  and  how  resolutely  his  shoulders 
were  squared.  She  saw  that  he  was  older,  too  ; 
and  she  observed  that  his  face  had  a  master 
ful  look,  wanting  there  the  last  time  she  had 
seen  him. 

He  had  always  been  a  fine-looking  fellow,  and 


128  OUTLINES   I!*    LOCAL   COLOR 

the  training  at  Annapolis  had  done  him  good,  lie 
was  no  mere  youth  now,  hut  a  man,  bronzed  and 
bearded,  and  hearing  himself  like  one  who  knew 
what  he  wanted  and  meant  to  get  it.  She  real 
ized  that  the  woman  he  chose  to  guard  from  the 
world  would  be  well  shielded.  A  weary  woman 
might  find  rest  under  the  shelter  of  his  stalwart 
protection.  Involuntarily  she  contrasted  the 
man  she  had  promised  to  marry  with  the  man 
she  had  married — the  manly  strength  of  the  one 
with  the  gentle  weakness  of  the  other.  Then  she 
blushed  again,  for  this  seemed  to  her  disloyalty  to 
the  dead.  Jim  had  been  very  good  to  her  always  ; 
he  was  the  father  of  her  child  ;  he  never  did  any 
wrong.  But  the  thought  returned  again — per 
haps  if  he  had  had  more  force  of  character  the 
child  need  not  have  died  as  it  did. 

Brother  Jackman  was  rattling  along  glibly,  but 
Sister  Mille  lid  not  heed  him.  She  did  not  hear 
him  even.  She  did  not  hear  anything  distinctly 
during  the  rest  of  the  service.  She  rose  to  her 
feet  with  the  rest  of  them,  and  she  sat  down 
again  automatically,  and  she  knelt  like  one  in 
n  trance.  When  the  meeting  was  over  and  the 
people  began  to  disperse  she  saw  that  he  did  not 
move,  lie  stood  there  silently,  waiting1  for  her 
to  come  to  him,  ready  to  bear  her  away.  With 
out  a  word  Sister  Miller  knew  what  it  was  her 
old  lover  wanted  ;  he  wanted  to  pick  up  their 
love-story  where  it  had  been  broken  off  four  years 
before. 


AX    IRREPRESSIBLE    CONFLICT  129 

When  the  hall  was  nearly  empty  he  started 
towards  her. 

She  turned  to  the  gray-haired  woman  by  her 
side. 

'•'Tell  me  what  to  do,"  she  cried.  •'•'He  is 
coming  to  take  me  away  with  him.'7 

Sister  Willetts  saw  the  young  man  advanc 
ing  slowly,  as  those  last  to  go  made  a  path  for 
him. 

"Is  he  in  love  with  you,  too  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Yes,"  the  younger  woman  answered. 

"And  do  you  love  him  ?" 

"  Yes— at  least,  I  think  so.     Oh  yes  !" 

"  And  is  he  a  good  man  ?"  was  the  last  question. 

"Yes,  indeed.'"  came  the  prompt  reply,  "'the 
best  man  I  ever  knew  !" 

The  sturdy  figure  was  drawing  nearer  and  the 
elder  woman  rose. 

•'•'If  you  love  him  better  than  •  ju  love  your 
work  with  us,  go  to  him,  in  God's  name,"  she 
said.  "  We  seek  no  unwilling  workers  here.  If 
you  cannot  give  yourself  to  the  service  J03'fullv, 
putting  all  else  behind  you,  go  in  peace  —  and 
may  the  blessing  of  God  be  with  you  !" 

She  bent  forward  and  kissed  the  younger  wom 
an  and  left  her,  as  Dexter  Standish  came  and 
stood  before  her. 

"Margaret,"  he  said,  firmly,  •'•  I  have  come  for 
you." 

Without  a  word  she  stepped  down  from  the 
platform  and  went  with  him. 


130        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

When  they  came  to  the  door  a  hansorn  hap 
pened  to  pass  and  he  called  it. 

"  Where  are  you  taking  me  ?"  she  asked,  glad 
to  be  under  the  shelter  of  his  devotion  and  ready 
to  relinquish  all  right  to  decide  upon  her  future 
for  herself. 

"To  my  mother,"  he  answered,  as  he  lifted 
her  into  the  vehicle.  "She's  at  a  hotel  here. 
She'll  be  glad  to  see  you/' 

"Will  she  ?"  the  girl  asked,  doubtfully. 

"Yes/'  was  the  authoritative  answer,  "she 
knows  thai  I  have  always  loved  you/' 

(1897) 


J1E  air  was  thick  arid  heavy,  as  it 
sometimes  is  in  the  great  city  tow 
ards  nightfall  after  a  hot  spell  has 
lasted  for  ten  days.  There  were 
sponges  tied  to  the  foreheads  of  the 
horses  that  wearily  tugged  at  the  overladen  cross- 
town  cars.  The  shop-girls  going  home  fanned 
themselves  limply.  The  men  released  from  work 
walked  languidly,  often  with  their  coats  over 
their  arms.  The  setting  sun  burned  fiery  red 
as  it  sank  behind  the  hills  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Hudson.  But  the  night  seemed  likely  to  be 
as  hot  as  the  day  had  been,  for  the  leaves  on  the 
trees  were  motionless  now,  as  they  had  been  all 
the  afternoon. 

\Ve  had  been  kept  in  town  all  through  July 
by  the  slow  convalescence  of  our  invalid,  and 
with  even  the  coming  of  August  we  could  not 
hope  to  get  away  for  another  ten  days  yet.  The 
excessive  heat  had  retarded  the  recovery  of  our 
patient  by  making  it  almost  impossible  for  her 
to  sleep.  That  evening,  as  it  happened,  she  had 
dropped  off  into  an  uneasy  slumber  a  little  after 
six  o'clock,  and  we  had  left  her  room  gently  in 
the  doubtful  hope  that  her  rest  might  be  pro 
longed  for  at  least  an  hour. 


134        OUTLINES  IX  LOCAL  COLOR 

I  had  slipped  down -stairs  and  was  standing 
on  the  stoop,  with  the  door  open  behind  me, 
when  I  heard  the  shrill  notes  of  the  Pan-pipes, 
accompanied  by  the  jingling  of  a  set  of  bells 
and  the  dull  thumping  of  a  drum.  I  understood 
at  once  that  some  sort  of  wandering  musician 
was  about  to  perform,  and  I  knew  that  with  the 
first  few  bars  the  needful  slumber  of  our  invalid 
would  be  interrupted  violently. 

I  closed  the  door  behind  me  softly  and  sprang 
down  the  steps,  and  sped  swiftly  to  the  corner 
around  which  the  sounds  seemed  to  proceed.  If 
the  fellow  is  a  foreigner,  I  thought,  I  must  give 
him  a  quarter  and  so  bribe  him  to  go  away,  and 
then  he  will  return  every  evening  to  be  bought 
off  again,  and  I  shall  become  a  subscriber  by 
the  week  to  the  concerts  I  do  not  wish  to  hear. 
But  if  the  itinerant  musician  is  an  American, 
of  course  I  can  appeal  to  him,  as  one  gentleman 
to  another,  and  we  shall  not  be  troubled  with  him 
again. 

When  I  turned  the  corner  I  saw  a  strange 
figure  only  a  few  yards  distant — a  strange  fig 
ure  most  strangely  accoutred — a  tall,  thin,  loose- 
jointed  mans  who  had  made  himself  appear  taller 
still  by  wearing  a  high -peaked  hat,  the  pinna 
cle  of  which  was  surmounted  by  a  wire  frame 
work,  in  which  half  a  dozen  bells  were  suspended, 
ringing  with  every  motion  of  the  head.  He  had 
on  a  long  linen  duster,  which  flapped  about  his 
gaunt  shanks  encased  in  tight,  black  trousers. 


'THE    AIR    WAS    THICK    AND    HEAVY 


THE    SOLO    ORCHESTRA  135 

Between  his  legs  he  had  a  pair  of  cymbals,  fast 
ened  one  to  each  knee.  Upon  his  back  was 
strapped  a  small  bass-drum,  on  which  there  was 
painted  the  announcement  that  the  performer 
was  "  Prof.  Theophilus  Briggs,  the  Solo  Orches 
tra.'"  A  drumstick  was  attached  to  each  side 
of  the  drum  and  connected  with  a  cord  that  ran 
down  his  legs  to  his  feet,  so  that  by  beating  time 
with  his  toes  he  could  make  the  drum  take  part 
in  his  concert.  The  Pan-pipes  that  I  had  heard 
were  fastened  to  his  breast  just  at  the  height  of 
his  chin,  so  that  he  could  easily  blow  into  them 
by  the  slightest  inclination  of  his  head.  In  his 
left  hand  he  held  a  fiddle,  and  in  his  right  hand 
he  had  a  fiddle-bow.  Just  as  I  came  in  sight, 
he  tapped  the  fiddle  with  the  bow,  as  though  to 
call  the  attention  of  the  orchestra.  Then  ho 
raised  the  fiddle  ;  not  to  his  chin,  for  the  Pan 
pipes  made  this  impossible,  but  to  the  other  po^ 
sition,  not  infrequent  among  street  musicians, 
just  below  the  shoulder.  Evidently  I  had  just 
arrived  in  time. 

He  was  not  a  foreigner,  obviously  enough.  It 
needed  only  one  glance  at  the  elongated  visage, 
with  its  good-natured  eyes  and  its  gentle  mouth, 
to  show  that  here  was  a  native  American  whose 
parents  and  grandparents  also  had  been  born  on 
this  side  of  the  Atlantic. 

"I  beg  your  pardon  for  interrupting  you  be 
fore  you  begin,"  I  said,  hastily,  "  but  I  shall  be 
very  much  obliged  indeed  if  you  would  kindly 


136        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

consent  to  give  your  performance  a  little  farther 
down  this  street — a  little  farther  away  from  this 
corner." 

I  saw  at  once  that  I  had  not  chosen  my  words 
adroitly,  for  the  kindly  smile  faded  from  his  lips, 
and  there  was  more  than  a  hint  of  stiffness  in 
his  manner  as  he  responded,  slowly  : 

et  I  don't  know  as  I  quite  catch  your  mean 
ing,"  he  began.  "  I  ain't — 

"  I'm  sorry  to  have  to  ask  you  to  go  away,"  I 
interrupted,  wishing  to  explain ;  "  Fd  like  to 
hear  your  concert  myself  ;  but  the  fact  is,  there's 
a  member  of  my  family  slowly  recovering  from 
a  long  sickness,  and  she's  only  just  fallen  asleep 
now  for  the  first  time  since  midnight." 

"  Why  didn't  you  say  so  at  first  ?"  was  Profess 
or  Briggs's  immediate  response,  and  the  genial 
smile  returned  to  his  thin  face.  "  Of  course,  I 
don't  want  to  worry  no  one  with  my  music.  And 
I'd  just  as  lief  as  not  go  over  the  other  side  of 
the  city  if  it  will  be  any  more  agreeable  to  a  sick 
person.  I  know  myself  what  it  is  to  have  sick 
ness  in  the  house  ;  there  ain't  no  one  knows  what 
that  is  better  than  I  do — no  one  don't." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you,  I'm  sure,"  I  said,  as 
he  walked  back  with  me  to  the  corner. 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,"  he  returned.  "  It  don't 
make  any  differ  to  me.  Now  you  just  show  me 
which  house  it  is,  so  I  can  keep  away  from  it." 

I  pointed  out  the  door  to  him. 

"  The  third  one  from  the  corner,  is  it  ?"  he  re- 


THE    SOLO    ORCHESTRA  137 

peated.  "  Well,  that's  all  right.  And  I  am  much 
obliged  to  you  for  telling  me  about  it,  for  I  should 
have  hated  to  wake  up  a  sick  person  ;  and  these 
pipes  and  this  drum  ain't  exactly  soothing  to  the 
sick,  are  they  ?" 

Then  the  smile  ripened  to  a  laugh,  and  after  I 
had  thanked  him  once  more  and  shaken  hands, 
he  turned  back  and  walked  away,  accompanied 
by  the  bevy  of  children  who  had  encircled  us  ex 
pectantly  ever  since  I  had  first  spoken  to  him. 

Before  daybreak  the  next  morning  a  storm 
broke  over  the  city,  and  the  heavy  rain  kept  up 
all  day,  cooling  the  streets  at  last  and  washing 
the  atmosphere.  With  the  passing  of  the  hot 
wave  sleep  became  easier  for  us  all.  Men  walked 
to  their  offices  in  the  morning  with  a  brisker 
step,  and  the  shop  -  girls  were  no  longer  listless 
as  they  went  to  their  work.  Our  invalid  im 
proved  rapidly,  and  we  could  count  the  days 
before  we  should  be  able  to  take  her  out  of  the 
city. 

The  rain-storm  had  brought  this  relief  on  a 
Thursday,  and  the  skies  did  not  clear  till  Friday 
evening.  The  air  kept  its  freshness  over  Satur 
day  and  Sunday. 

On  the  latter  day,  towards  nightfall,  I  had 
taken  my  seat  on  the  stoop,  as  is  the  custom  of 
Xew-Yorkers  kept  in  town  during  the  summer 
months.  I  had  brought  out  a  cushion  or  two, 
and  I  was  smoking  my  second  after-supper  cigar. 


138        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

I  felt  at  peace  with  the  world,  and  for. the  mo 
ment  I  had  even  dispensed  with  the  necessity  of 
thinking.  It  satisfied  me  to  watch  the  rings  of 
tobacco-smoke  as  they  curled  softly  above  my 
head. 

Although  I  was  thus  detached  from  earth,  I 
became  at  last  vaguely  conscious  that  a  man  had 
passed  before  the  house  for  two  or  three  times, 
and  that  as  he  passed  he  had  stared  at  me  as 
though  he  expected  recognition.  With  his  next 
return  my  attention  was  aroused.  I  saw  that  he 
was  a  tall,  thin  man,  of  perhaps  fifty  years  of  age, 
with  a  lean  face  clean-shaven,  plainly  dressed  in 
black,  and  in  what  was  obviously  a  Sunday  suit, 
BO  revealing  itself  by  its  odd  wrinkles  and  creases. 
As  he  came  abreast  of  rne,  he  slackened  his  gait 
and  looked  up.  When  he  caught  my  eye  he 
smiled.  And  then  I  recognized  him  at  once.  It 
was  Professor  Theophilus  Briggs,  the  Solo  Or 
chestra. 

When  he  discovered  that  I  knew  him  again  he 
stood  still.  I  rose  to  my  feet  and  greeted  him. 

"I  thought  this  was  the  house,"  he  began, 
"but  I  wasn't  sure  for  certain.  You  see,  my 
memory  ain't  any  longer  than  a  toad's  tail.  Still, 
I  allowed  I  hadn't  ought  to  disremember  anything 
as  big  as  a  house — now  had  I  ?"  and  he  laughed 
pleasantly.  "And  I  thought  that  was  you,  too, 
setting  up  there  on  the  porch/'7  he  went  on, 
cheerfully.  "  And  I'm  glad  it  is,  because  I 
wanted  to  see  you  again  to  ask  after  the  lady's 


THE    SOLO   ORCHESTRA  139 

health.  Bid  she  have  her  sleep  out  that  even 
ing  ?  And  ho\v  is  she  getting-  on  now  ?'' 

I  thanked  him  again  for  his  considerate  action 
the  first  time  we  had  met,  as  well  as  for  his  kind 
ly  inquiries  now,  and  I  was  glad  to  give  him  good 
news  of  o  u  r  pat  i  en  t .  Th  en  I  r ec  ogn  i  ze  d  t h  e  d  u  t  i  es 
of  hospitality,  and  I  asked  my  visitor  if  he  would 
not  "take  something/' 

'•Xo,  thank  you/''  he  returned — "that  is.  if 
there  ain't  no  offence.  Fact  is.  I've  quit.  I 
don't  look  on  the  wine  when  it  is  red  now.  for 
it  biteth  like  an  adder  and  it  stingeth  like  a  ser 
pent,  and  I  don't  want  any  more  snakes  in  mine. 
I've  had  enough  of  them.  I  have.  Croton  extra 
dry  is  good  enough  for  me  now.  I  guess  ;  and  I 
ain't  no  use  now  for  a  happy  family  of  blue  mice 
and  green  rats  and  yellow  monkeys.  I've  had 
whole  menageries  of  them,  too,  in  my  time — 
regular  Greatest  Show  on  Earth,  you  know,  and 
me  with  a  season  ticket.  But  it's  like  all  these 
continuous  performances,  you  get  tired  of  it 
pretty  soon — leastways.  I  did,  and  so  I  quit,  and 
I  don't  touch  a  drop  now." 

"  Sworn  off  ?"  I  suggested,  as  I  made  room  for 
him  on  the  cushion  by  my  side. 

"  Oh  no/'  he  said,  simply,  as  he  sat  down  :  "I 
hadn't  no  need  to  swear  off.  I  just  quit ;  that's 
all  there  was  to  it." 

"  Some  men  do  not  find  it  so  very  easy  to  give 
up  drinking."  I  remarked. 

'•That's  so.  too,"  he  answered,  "and  I  didn't 


140         OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

either,  for  a  fact.  But  I  just  had  to  do  it,  that's 
all.  You  see,,  I'd  given  drinking  a  fair  show,, 
and  Fd  found  it  didn't  pay.  Well,  I  don't  like 
no  trade  where  you're  bound  to  lose  in  the  long- 
run — seems  a  pretty  poor  way  to  do  business, 
don't  it  ?  So  I  quit." 

This  seemed  to  call  for  a  commonplace  from 
me,  and  I  was  equal  to  the  occasion.  "It's  easier 
to  get  into  the  way  of  taking  a  drop  now  and  then 
than  it  is  to  get  out  of  it." 

"I  got  into  it  easy  enough,  I  know  that,"  he 
returned,  smiling  genially.  ' '  It  was  when  I  was 
in  the  army.  After  a  man  has  been  laying  out  in 
the  swamp  for  a  week  or  so,  a  little  rum  ain't 
such,  a  bad  thing  to  have  in  the  house." 

Then  it  was  that  for  the  first  time  I  noticed  the 
bronze  button  in  his  coat. 

"So  you  were  in  the  army  ?"  I  said,  with  the 
ever-rising  envy  felt  by  so  many  of  my  genera 
tion  who  lived  through  the  long  years  of  the 
Civil  War  mere  boys,  too  young  to  take  part  in 
the  struggle. 

"I  was  a  drummer-boy  at  Gettysburg,"  he  an 
swered  ;  "  and  it  warn't  mighty  easy  for  me, 
either." 

"How  so  ?"  I  asked. 

"Well,  it  was  this  way,"  he  explained.  "Fa 
ther,  he  was  a  Maine  man,  and  he  was  a  sea-cap- 
taiii.  And  when  mother  died,  after  a  spell  father 
he  up  and  married  again.  Now  that  second  wife 
of  father's  she  didn't  like  me  ;  and  I  didn't  like 


THE    SOLO    ORCHESTRA  141 

her  either,  not  overmuch.  I  guess  there  warn't 
no  love  lost  between  us.  She  liked  to  make  a 
voyage  with  father  now  and  then,  and  so  did 
I.  We  was  both  with  him  on  a  voyage  he 
made  about  the  time  the  war  broke  out.  We 
cleared  for  Cowes  and  a  market,  and  along  in 
the  summer  of  "62  we  was  in  the  Mediterranean. 
It  was  towards  the  end  of  that  summer  we 
come  into  Genoa,  and  there  we  got  a  chance  at 
the  papers,  all  filled  chock-full^  of  battles.  And 
it  didn't  seem  as  though  things  was  going  any  too 
well  over  here,  either,  and  so  I  felt  I'd  like  to 
come  home  and  lend  a  hand  in  putting  down  the 
rebellion.  You  see,  I  was  past  fourteen  then, 
and  I  was  tall  for  my  age — 'most  as  tall  as  I  am 
now,  I  guess.  I  was  doing  a  man's  work  on  the 
ship,  and  I  didn't  see  why  I  couldn't  do  a  man's 
work  in  helping  Uncle  Sam.  seeing  he  seemed  to 
be  having  a  hard  time  of  it.  And  I  don't  mind 
telling  you.  too.  that  she  had  been  making  me 
have  considerable  of  a  hard  time  of  it.  too  :  and 
there  warn't  no  way  of  contenting  her,  she  was 
so  all-fired  pernicketty.  There  was  another  ship 
in  the  harbor  near  us,  and  the  captain  was  a  sort 
of  a  kind  of  a  cousin  of  mother's,  and  so  I 
shipped  with  him  and  we  come  straight  home 
from  Genoa  to  Portsmouth.  And  when  I  wanted 
to  enlist  they  wouldn't  have  me.  saying  I  was  too 
young,  which  was  all  foolishness.  So  I  went  for 
a  drummer-boy,  and  I  was  in  the  Army  of  the 
Potomac  from  Gettysburg  to  Appomattox." 


142  OUTLINES   Ilf   LOCAL   COLOR 

"  You  were  only  a  boy  even  when  the  war  was 
over/'  I  commented. 

"Well,  I  was  seventeen,  and  I  felt  old  enough 
to  be  seventy,"  he  returned,  as  a  smile  wrinkled 
his  lean  features.  "  At  any  rate,  I  was  old  enough 
to  get  married  the  year  after  Lee  surrendered, 
and  my  daughter  was  born  the  year  after  that — 
she'd  be  nearly  thirty  now  if  she  was  living  to 
day." 

"Did  you  stay  in  one  of  the  bands  of  the  reg 
ulars  after  the  war  ?"  I  asked,  wondering  how  the 
sailor-lad  who  had  become  a  drummer-boy  had 
finally  developed  into  a  solo  orchestra. 

"No, "he  answered.  "Not  but  what  I  did 
think  of  it  some.  But  after  being  at  sea  so  long 
and  in  the  army,  camping  here  and  there  and 
always  moving  on,  I  was  restless,  and  I  didn't 
want  to  settle  down  nowhere  for  long.  So  I  went 
into  the  show  business.  I'd  always  been  fond  of 
music,  and  I  could  play  on  'most  anything,  from 
a  fine -tooth  comb  to  a  church -organ  with  all 
the  stops  you  please,  80  I  went  out  with  the 
side-show  of  a  circus,  playing  on  the  tumbler- 
onicon." 

"The  tunibleromcon  ?"  I  repeated,  in  doubt. 

"  It's  a  tray  with  a  lot  of  wineglasses  on  it  and 
goblets  and  tumblers,  partly  filled  with  water,  you 
know,  so  as  to  give  different  notes.  Why,  I've  had 
one  tumbleroiiicon  of  seven  octaves  that  I  used 
to  play  the  ( Anvil  Chorus'  on,  and  always  got  a 
double  encore  for  it.  I  believe  it's  what  they  used 


THE    SOLO    ORCHESTRA  143 

to  call  the  -musical  glasses ''—but  tumbleronicon 
is  what  it's  called  now  in  the  profession." 

I  admitted  that  I  had  heard  of  the  musical 
glasses. 

"  It  was  while  I  was  playing  the  tumbleroni 
con  in  that  side-show  that  I  met  the  lady  I  mar 
ried,"  he  went  on.  "  She  was  a  Circassian  girl 
then.  Most  Circassian  girls  are  Irish,  you  know, 
but  she  wasn't.  She  was  from  the  White  Moun 
tains.  Well.  I  made  up  to  her  from  the  start, 
and  when  the  circus  went  into  winter-quarters 
we  had  a  lot  of  money  saved  up  and  we  got 
married.  My  wife  hadn't  a  bad  ear  for  music, 
so  that  winter  we  worked  up  a  double  act,  and 
in  the  spring  we  went  on  the  road  as  Swiss  Bell- 
ringers.  We  dressed  up  just  as  I  had  seen  the 
I-talians  dress  in  Xaples.'' 

Again  I  asked  for  an  explanation. 

••Oh.  you  must  have  seen  that  act  ?"  he  urged, 
"  though  it  has  somehow  gone  out  of  style  late 
ly.  It's  to  have  a  fine  set  of  bells,  three  or  four 
octaves,  laying  out  on  a  table  before  you,  and 
then  you  play  tunes  on  them,  just  as  you  do  on 
the  tumbleronicon.  There's  some  tunes  go  better 
on  the  bells  than  on  anything  else — •  Yankee 
Doodle'  and  •  Pop  Goes  the  Weasel.'  It's  quick 
tunes  like  them  that  folks  like  to  have  you  pick 
out  on  the  bells.  Why.  Mrs.  Briggs  and  I  used 
to  do  a  patriotic  medley,  ending  up  with  '  Rally 
Round  the  Flag,'  that  just  made  the  soldiers' 
widows  cry.  If  we  could  only  have  gone  on,  we'd 


144  OUTLINES    IN    LOCAL   COLOll 

have  been  sure  of  our  everlasting  fortunes.  But 
Mrs.  Briggs  went  and  lost  her  health  after  our 
daughter  was  born  the  next  summer.  We  kept 
thinking  all  the  time  she'd  get  better  soon,  and 
so  I  took,  an  engagement  here  in  New  York,  at 
Barnum's  old  museum  in  Broadway,  to  play  the 
drum  in  the  orchestra.  You  remember  Bar 
num's  old  museum,  don't  you  ?" 

I  was  able  to  say  that  I  did  remember  Bar 
num's  old  museum  in  Broadway. 

"  I  didn't  really  like  it  there  ;  for  the  animals 
were  smelly,  you  know,  and  the  work  was  very 
confining,  what  with  two  and  three  performances 
a  day.  But  I  had  to  stay  here  in  New  York  some 
how,  for  my  wife  wa'n't  able  to  get  away.  The 
long  and  short  of  it  is,  she  was  sick  a-bed  nigh 
on  to  thirty  years — not  suffering  really  all  the 
time,  of  course,  but  puny  and  ailing,  and  get 
ting  no  comfort  from  her  food.  There  was  times 
I  thought  she  never  would  get  well  or  any 
thing.  But  two  years  ago  she  up  and  died  sud 
denly,  just  when  I'd  most  got  used  to  her  being 
sick.  Women's  dreadful  uncertain,  ain't  they  ?" 

I  had  to  confess  that  the  course  of  the  female 
of  our  species  was  more  or  less  incalculable. 

"My  daughter,  she  died  the  year  before  her 
mother  ;  and  she'd  never  been  sick  a  day  in  her 
life — took  after  me,  she  did,"  Professor  Briggs 
went  on.  "She  and  her  husband  used  to  do 
Yankee  Girl  and  Irish  Boy  duets  in  the  vaude 
villes,  as  they  call  them  now." 


THE    SOLO    ORCHESTRA  145 

I  remarked  that  variety  show,  the  old  name 
for  entertainments  of  that  type,  seemed  to  me 
more  appropriate. 

"That's  what  I  think  myself/'' he  returned, 
"  and  that's  what  Fin  always  telling  them.  But 
they  say  vaudeville  is  more  up  to  date — and  that's 
what  they  want  now.  everything  up  to  date. 
Xow  I  think  there's  lots  of  the  old-fashioned 
things  that's  heaps  better  than  some  of  these 
new-fangled  things  they're  so  proud  of.  Take  a 
three-ringed  circus,  for  instance — what  good  is  a 
three-ringed  circus  to  anybody,  except  the  boss 
of  it  ?  The  public  has  only  two  eyes  apiece,  that's 
all — and  even  a  man  who  squints  can't  see  more 
than  two  rings  at  once,  can  he  ?  And  three  rings 
don't  give  a  real  artist  a  show ;  they  discourage 
him  by  distracting  folk's  attention  away  from 
him.  How  is  he  to  do  his  best  if  he  can't  never 
be  certain  sure  that  the  public  is  looking  at  him?" 

Here  again  I  was  able  to  express  my  full  agree 
ment  with  the  professor. 

•"•'  I'd  never  do  in  a  three-ring  show,  no  matter 
what  they  was  to  give  me,"  he  continued.  "  And 
I've  got  an  act  nearly  ready  now  that  there's  lots 
of  these  shows  will  be  wanting  just  as  soon  as 
they  hear  of  it.  I  " — here  he  interrupted  him 
self  and  looked  up  and  down  the  street,  as  though 
to  make  sure  that  there  were  no  concealed  listen 
ers  lying  in  wait  to  overhear  what  he  was  about 
to  say — "I  don't  mind  telling  you  about  it.  if 
you'd  like  to  know." 
10 


146        OUTLINES  IX  LOCAL  COLOR 

I  declared  that  I  was  much  interested,  and 
that  I  desired  above  all  things  to  learn  all  about 
this  new  act  of  his. 

"Well,"  he  began,  "  I  think  I  told  you  awhile 
ago  that  my  granddaughter's  all  the  family  I 
got  left  now  ?  She's  nearly  eight  years  old,  and 
as  cunning  a  little  thing  as  ever  you  see  any 
where — and  healthy,  too,  like  her  mother.  She 
favors  me,  just  as  her  mother  did.  And  she 
takes  to  music  naturally — can't  keep  her  hands 
off  my  instruments  when  I  put  them  down — 
plays  '  Jerusalem  the  Golden'  on  the  pipes  now 
so  it  would  draw  tears  from  a  graven  image. 
And  she  sings  too — just  as  if  she  couldn't  help 
it.  She's  a  voice  like  an  angel — oh,  she'll  be  a 
primy  donny  one  of  these  days.  And  it  was  her 
singing  gave  me  the  idea  of  this  new  act  of  mine. 
It's  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  arranged  just  for  her  and 
me.  I  do  Uncle  Tom  and  play  the  fiddle,  and 
she  doubles  Little  Eva  and  Topsy  with  a  light 
ning  change.  As  Little  Eva,  of  course,  she'll 
sing  a  hymn— 'Wait  Till  the  Clouds  Roll  By,' 
or  the  ( Sweet  By-and-By,'  or  something  of 
that  sort ;  and  as  Topsy  she'll  do  a  banjo  solo 
first,  and  then  for  the  encore  she'll  do  a  song 
and  dance,  while  I  play  the  fiddle  for  her.  It's 
a  great  scheme,  isn't  it  ?  It's  bound  to  be  a  go  !" 

I  expressed  the  opinion  that  it  seemed  to  me 
a  most  attractive  suggestion. 

"But  I've  made  up  my  mind,"  he  went  on, 
"not  to  bring  her  out  at  all  until  I  can  get  the 


THE   SOLO    ORCHESTRA  147 

right  opening.  I  don't  care  about  terms  first  off, 
because  when  we  make  our  hit  we  can  get  onr 
own  term?  quick  enough.  But  there's  every 
thing  in  opening  right.  So  I  shall  wait  till  fall, 
or  maybe  even  till  Xew  Year's,  before  I  begin 
to  worry  about  it.  And  in  the  meantime  my 
own  act  in  the  street  goes.  The  Solo  Orchestra 
is  safe  for  pretty  good  money  all  summer.  You 
didn't  hear  me  the  other  evening,  and  I'm  sorry 
— but  there's  no  doubt  it's  a  go.  I  don't  suppose 
it's  as  legitimate  as  the  tunibleromcon,  maybe, 
or  as  the  Swiss  bells— I  don't  know  for  sure.  But 
it  isn't  bad.  either  ;  and  in  summer,  wherever 
there's  children  around,  it's  a  certain  winner. 
Sometimes  when  I  do  the  *  Turkish  Patrol,'  or 
things  like  that,  there's  a  hundred  or  more  all 
round  me." 

"  From  the  way  the  little  ones  looked  at  me 
the  other  evening,  when  I  asked  you  to  move 
on,"  I  said,  "'it  was  obvious  enough  that  they 
were  very  anxious  to  hear  you.  And  I  regret 
that  I  was  forced  to  deprive  myself  also  of  the 
pleasure." 

He  rose  to  his  feet  slowly,  his  loose- jointed 
frame  seeming  to  unfold  itself  link  by  link. 

*'•' I  tell  you  what  I'll  do,"  he  responded,  cord 
ially  ;  •'•'  isn't  your  lady  getting  better  T"1 

I  was  able  to  say  that  our  invalid  was  improv 
ing  steadily. 

••'Well,  then/'7  he  suggested,  "what  do  you 
sa-v  to  my  coining  round  here  some  evening  next 


148  OUTLINES    IN    LOCAL    COLOR 

week  ?  I'll  give  a  concert  for  her  and  you,,  and 
any  of  your  friends  yon  like  to  invite  ?  And  you 
can  tell  her  there  isn't  any  of  the  new  songs 
or  waltzes  or  marches  or  selections  from  operas 
she  wants  I  can't  do.  She's  only  got  to  give  it 
a  name  and  the  Solo  Orchestra  will  play  it." 

Of  course  I  accepted  this  proffered  entertain 
ment  ;  and  with  that  Professor  Briggs  took  his 
leave,  bidding  me  farewell  with  a  slightly  con 
scious  air  as  though  he  were  accustomed  to  have 
the  eyes  of  a  multitude  centred  upon  him. 

And  one  evening,  in  the  middle  of  the  week, 
the  Solo  Orchestra  appeared  on  the  sidewalk  in 
front  of  our  house  and  gave  a  concert  for  our 
special  benefit. 

Our  invalid  had  so  far  regained  her  strength 
that  she  was  able  to  sit  at  the  window  to  watch 
the  performance  of  Professor  Briggs.  But  her 
attention  was  soon  distracted  from  the  Solo  Or 
chestra  itself  to  the  swarm  of  children  which 
encompassed  him  about,  and  which  took  the 
sharpest  interest  in  his  strange  performance. 

"  Just  look  at  that  lovely  little  girl  on  the  stoop 
opposite,  sitting  all  alone  by  herself,  as  though 
she  didn't  know  any  of  the  others,"  cried  our 
convalescent.  "She's  the  most  elfinlike  little 
beauty  I've  ever  seen.  And  she  is  as  llasee 
about  this  Solo  Orchestra  of  yours  as  though  it 
was  Tannhauser  we  were  listening  to,  and  she 
was  the  owner  of  a  box  at  the  Metropolitan." 

When  the  concert  came  to  an  end  at  last,  as 


THE    SOLO    ORCHESTRA  149 

the  brief  twilight  was  waning,  when  the  Solo 
Orchestra  had  played  the  "Anvil  Chorus*'  as  a 
final  encore  after  the  ••'Turkish  Patrol,"  when 
Professor  Theophilus  Briggs,  after  taking  up  the 
collection  himself,  had  shaken  hands  with  me 
when  I  went  down  to  convey  to  him  our  thanks, 
when  it  was  so  plainly  evident  that  the  perform 
ance  was  over  at  last  that  even  the  children  ac 
cepted  the  inevitable  and  began  to  scatter— then 
the  self-possessed  little  girl  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  way  rose  to  her  feet  with  dignity.  When 
the  tall  musician,  with  the  bells  jingling  in  his 
peaked  hat,  crossed  the  street,  she  took  his  hand 
as  though  he  belonged  to  her.  As  he  walked 
away  she  trotted  along  by  his  side,  smiling  up 
at  him. 

••'  I  see  now."  I  said  ;  '-'that  must  be  his  grand 
daughter,  the  future  impersonator  of  the  great 
dual  character,  Little  Eva  and  Topsy." 

(1896) 


oekeazdal  of  the 


Slay 


:HEX  Wilson  Carpenter  came  to  the 
junction  of  the  two  great  thorough 
fares,  he  stood  still  for  a  moment 
and  looked  at  his  watch,  not  wish 
ing  to  arrive  at  the  rehearsal  too 
early.  He  found  that  it  was  then  almost  eight 
o'clock,  and  he  began  at  once  to  pick  his  way 
across  the  car-tracks  that  were  here  twisted  in  ev 
ery  direction.  A  cloud  of  steam  swirled  down  as  a 
train  on  the  elevated  railroad  clattered  along  over 
his  head  ;  the  Cyclops  eye  of  a  cable- car  glared 
at  him  as  it  came  rushing  down -town;  from 
the  steeple  of  a  church  on  the  corner,  around 
which  the  mellow  harvest  -  moon  peered  down 
on  the  noisy  streets,  there  came  the  melodious 
call  to  the  evening  service  ;  over  the  entrance  to 
a  variety  show  a  block  above  a  gaudy  cluster  of 
electric  lights  illuminated  the  posters  which  pro 
claimed  for  that  evening  a  Grand  Sacred  Concert, 
at  which  Queenie  Dougherty,  the  Irish  Empress, 
would  sing  her  new  song,  "  He's  an  Illigant  Man 
in  a  Scrap,  My  Boys/''  As  the  young  dramatist 
sped  along  he  noted  that  people  were  still  strag 
gling  by  twos  and  threes  into  the  house  of  wor 
ship0  and  into  the  place  of  entertainment:  and 
he  could  not  but  contrast  swiftly  this  Sunday 


154        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

evening  in  a  great  city  with  the  Sunday  evenings 
of  his  boyhood  in  the  little  village  of  his  birth. 

He  wondered  what  his  quiet  parents  would 
think  of  him  now  were  they  alive,  and  did  they 
know  that  he  was  then  going  to  the  final  re 
hearsal  of  a  play  of  which  he  Avas  half  author. 
It  was  not  his  first  piece,,  for  he  had  been  lucky 
enough  the  winter  before  to  win  a  prize  offered 
by  an  enterprising  newspaper  for  the  best  one-act 
comedy  ;  but  it  was  the  first  play  of  his  to  be  pro 
duced  at  an  important  New  York  house.  When 
he  came  to  the  closed  but  brilliantly  lighted  en 
trance  of  this  theatre,  he  stood  still  again  to  read 
with  keen  pleasure  the  three  -  sheet  posters  on 
each  side  of  the  doorway.  These  parti-colored 
advertisements  announced  the  first  appearance 
at  that  theatre  of  the  young  American  actress, 
Miss  Daisy  Fostelle,,  in  a  new  American  comedy, 
"  Touch  and  Go/'  written  expressly  for  her  by 
Harry  Brackett  and  Wilson  Carpenter,,  and  pro 
duced  under  the  immediate  direction  of  Z.  Kil- 
burn. 

When  the  author  of  the  new  American  comedy 
had  read  this  poster  twice,  he  took  out  his  watch 
again  and  saw  that  it  was  just  eight.  He  threw 
away  his  cigarette  and  walked  swiftly  around  the 
corner.  Entering  a  small  door,  he  went  down  a 
long,  ill-lighted  passage.  At  the  end  of  this  was 
a  small  square  hall,  which  might  almost  be  called 
the  landing-stage  of  a  flight  of  stairs  leading  to 
the  dressing-rooms  above  and  to  the  property- 


THE    REHEARSAL    OF   THE    XEW    PLAY         155 

room  below.  This  hall  was  cut  off  from  the 
stage  by  a  large  swinging-door. 

As  Carpenter  entered  the  room  this  door  swung 
open  and  a  nervous  young  man  rushed  in.  Catch 
ing  sight  of  the  dramatist,  he  checked  his  speed, 
held  out  his  hand,  and  smiled  wearily,  saying, 
"  That's  you.  is  it  ?  I'm  so  glad  you've  come  !?> 

"  The  rehearsal  hasn't  begun,  has  it  ?"  Carpen 
ter  asked,  eagerly. 

f£  Star  isn't  here  yet/" answered  the  actor,  "and 
she's  never  in  a  hurry,  you  know.  She  takes  her 
own  time  always.  Daisy  does.  I  know  all  her 
little  tricks.  I've  told  you  already  that  I  never 
would  have  accepted  this  engagement  at  all  if  I 
hadn't  been  out  since  January.  I  don't  see  my 
self  in  this  part  of  yours.  I'll  do  my  best  with 
it.  of  course,  and  it  isn't  such  a  bad  part,  maybe ; 
but  I  don't  see  myself  in  it." 

Carpenter  tapped  the  other  on  the  back  heart 
ily  and  cried  :  "'Don't  you  be  afraid.  Dresser; 
you  will  be  all  right  !  Why.  I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  you  made  the  hit  of  the  whole  piece  !" 

And  with  that  he  started  to  open  the  door  that 
led  to  the  stage. 

But  Dresser  made  a  sudden  appeal:  ''Don't 
go  away  just  as  I've  found  you.  I've  been  want 
ing  to  see  you  all  day.  I've  got  to  have  your 
advice,  and  it's  important." 

"  Well  ?"  the  dramatist  responded. 

"Well."  repeated  the  young  actor,  "you  know 
that  bit  of  mine  in  the  third  act,  where  I  have 


156        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

the  scene  with  Jimmy  Stark  ?  He  has  to  say  to 
me.,  (I  think  my  wife's  mind  is  breaking/  and  I 
say,  '  Are  you  afraid  she  is  going  to  give  you  a 
piece  of  it  T  Now,  how  would  you  read  that  ?" 

After  the  author  had  explained  to  the  actor 
what  seemed  to  him  the  obvious  distribution  of 
the  emphasis  in  this  speech,  he  was  able  to  escape 
and  at  last  to  make  his  way  upon  the  stage. 

The  scene  of  the  first  act  of  "  Touch  and 
Go  "  was  set,  and  the  stage  itself  was  brilliantly 
lighted,  while  the  auditorium  was  in  absolute 
darkness.  It  was  at  least  a  minute  before  Car 
penter  was  able  to  discern  the  circle  of  the  bal 
cony,  shrouded  in  the  linen  draperies  that  pro 
tected  its  velvet  and  its  gilding  from  the  dust. 
Here  and  there  in  the  orchestra  chairs  were  little 
knots  of  three  or  four  persons,  perhaps  twenty 
or  thirty  in  all.  The  proscenium  boxes  yawned 
blackly.  Although  it  was  a  warm  evening  in  the 
early  fall,  the  house  struck  Carpenter  as  chill 
and  forbidding.  He  peered  into  the  darkness 
to  discover  the  face  he  was  longing  to  see  again. 

Two  men  were  talking  earnestly,  seated  at  a 
table  in  the  centre  of  the  stage  near  the  foot 
lights.  One  of  these  was  a  short  man,  with 
grizzled  hair  and  a  masterful  manner.  This  was 
Sherrington,  the  stage -manager  who  had  been 
engaged  to  produce  the  play.  The  other  was 
Harry  Brackett,  Carpenter's  collaborator  in  its 
authorship. 

Just  as  the  new-comer  had  made  out  in  the 


THE    REHEARSAL    OF    THE    XEW    PLAY         157 

dark  house  the  group  lie  was  seeking  and  had 
bowed  to  the  two  ladies  comprising  it,  Harry 
Brackett  caught  sight  of  him. 

"  Well,  Will."  he  cried,  "  the  Stellar  Attrac 
tion  is  late,  as  usual — and  we've  got  lots  of  work 
before  us  to-night,  too.  Sherrington  isn't  at  all 
satisfied  with  the  way  they  do  either  of  the  big 
scenes  in  the  second  act ;  and  we've  got  to  look 
out  and  keep  them  all  up  to  their  work  if  we 
want  this  to  be  anything  more  than  a  mere  '  ar 
tistic  success/ '' 

•••'Artistic  success!'''"  said  Sherrington,  em 
phatically  ;  "  why,  there's  money  in  this  thing 
of  yours — big  money,  too.  if  we  can  get  all  the 
laughs  out  of  those  two  scenes  of  Daisy's  in  the 
second  act.  But  it  will  take  good  work  to  get 
out  all  the  laughs  there  ought  to  be,  legitimate 
ly — and  we've  got  to  do  it  !  Every  laugh  is 
worth  a  dollar  and  a  half  :  that's  what  I  say." 

"  The  two  scenes  in  the  second  act  ?"  inquired 
Carpenter.  "  The  one  with  Stark  and  the  one 
with  Miss  Marvin,  you  mean  ?" 

'•'  The  one  with  Marvin  will  be  all  right.  I 
think,"  said  the  stage-manager. 

••I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  Harry  Brackett 
interjected  :  "'you  insisted  on  her  being  engaged, 
Will,  but  she  is  very  inexperienced,  and  I  don't 
know  how  she'll  get  through  that  long  scene.'" 

"  Miss  Marvin  is  very  clever,"  Carpenter  de 
clared,  eager  to  defend  the  girl  he  was  in  love 
with  :  ••  and  she  will  look  the  part  to  perfection  !" 


158        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

"Looking  is  all  very  well,"  Brackett  respond 
ed,  "  but  it  is  acting  she  will  have  to  do  in  that 
scene  in  the  second  act." 

"  And  she  will  do  it  too,"  asserted  the  stage- 
manager.  "You  see, 'she's  got  her  mother  here 
to-night,  and  there  isn't  a  sharper  old  stager  any 
where  than  Kate  Shannon  Loraine." 

"That's  so,"  Harry  Brackett  admitted;  "I 
suppose  Loraine  can  show  her  daughter  how  to 
get  out  of  that  scene  all  there  is  in  it." 

"Shannon  '11  see  the  whole  play  to-night," 
said  Sherrington,  "and  she'll  be  able  to  give 
Marvin  lots  of  pointers  to-morrow.  The  little 
girl  will  be  all  right ;  it's  Daisy  I'm  more  afraid 
of  in  that  scene.  It  ought  to  be  played  high 
comedy,  (  Lady  Teazle,'  way  up  in  G— and  high 
comedy  isn't  altogether  in  Daisy's  line." 

"That  can't  be  helped  now,"  Brackett  re 
plied  ;  "and  if  the  Stellar  Attraction  can't  reach 
that  scene  it's  the  Stellar  Attraction's  own  fault, 
isn't  it  ?  You  remember,  Will,  how  she  kept  tell 
ing  us  all  the  time  Ave  were  writing  the  play  that 
she  wanted  as  high-toned  a  part  as  we  could  give 
her.  We  gave  it  to  her,  and  now  she's  just  got 
to  stretch  up  to  it,  if  she  can." 

"I  am  not  afraid  of  that  scene,"  Carpenter 
declared,  "for  I've  always  doubted  whether  she 
could  really  do  high  comedy,  and  that  scene  is 
written  so  that  it  will  go  almost  as  well  if  it's 
played  broadly.  You  know  there  are  two  ways 
of  doing  Lady  Teazle." 


THE    REHEARSAL    OF   THE    XEW    PLAY         159 

"  There  are  no  two  ways  about  Daisy's  being  a 
great  favorite,"  said  the  stage-manager.  "  She's 
accepted,  and  that's  enough.  After  all,  I  don't 
suppose  it  matters  much  how  she  takes  that 
scene  ;  high  or  broad,  the  public  will  accept  her. 
The  part  tits  her  like  a  glove,  and  all  we've  got 
to  do  is  to  keep  everybody  up  to  concert-pitch 
and  get  all  the  laughs  we  can.  You  took  my 
advice  and  cut  that  talky  scene  in  the  third  act, 
and  now  the  whole  act  will  go  off  like  hot  cakes 
— see  if  it  don't.  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  I'll  teach 
you  two  boys  how  to  write  a  real  farce  before 
I've  done  with  you  !" 

Harry  Brackett  was  standing  almost  behind 
Sherringtoii  as  the  stage  -  manager  made  this 
speech.  He  winked  at  Carpenter. 

•'•'  Yes,"  he  said,  a  moment  later,  •"•  I  think  it  is 
a  pretty  good  piece  of  the  kind,  and  I  hope  it 
will  fetch  them.  At  any  rate.  I  don't  believe 
even  our  worst  enemies  will  praise  it  for  its 
'literary  merit,'  ' 

Carpenter  laughed  a  little  bitterly.  •'•'  Xo,"  he 
assented,  '-'we've  got  it  into  shape  now,  and  I 
doubt  if  anybody  insults  us  by  saying  that  •'  Touch 
and  Go  '  is  •'  well  written.'  * 

'•'  Do  you  remember  our  joke  while  we  were 
working  on  it  last  winter,  Will  ?"  asked  Harry 
Brackett.  Then  turning  to  Sherringtoii  he  ex 
plained  :  '•'  \Ve  used  to  say  that  the  managers 
wouldn't  *  touch'  it,  so  the  people  couldn't e go.' ' 

'•It's  harder  to  touch  the  manager  than  it  is 


160  OUTLINES    IN    LOCAL    COLOR 

to  make  the  public  go,"  added  Carpenter.  "  I 
believe  that  any  fool  can  write  a  play,  but  that 
only  a  man  of  great  genius  ever  succeeds  in  get 
ting  his  play  produced/' 

A  handsome  young  woman  with  snapping  black 
eyes  walked  on  the  stage  briskly. 

"Here's  the  Stellar  Attraction  at  last/'  said 
Harry  Brackett;  "  now  we  can  get  down  to  busi 
ness." 

"Am  I  late?"  the  handsome  young  woman 
asked,  as  she  came  forward.  "Everybody  wait 
ing  for  me  ?" 

"  You  are  just  twenty  minutes  late,  my  dear/' 
said  the  stage  -  manager,  looking  at  his  watch, 
"and  we  are  all  waiting  for  you." 

".  That's  all  right,  then,"  she  replied,  laughing 
lightly;  "we've  got  all  night  before  us,  haven't 
we  ?" 

The  prompter  clapped  his  hands  and  called  out 
"First  act!"  Two  clean-shaven  men  of  indef 
inite  age  who  had  been  sitting  in  the  wings  rose 
and  came  forward.  Mr.  Dresser  joined  them,  and 
his  manner  suggested  a  certain  increase  of  his 
ordinary  nervous  tension.  A  well-preserved  el 
derly  lady  left  her  seat  on  one  side  of  the  aisles 
under  the  proscenium  box  and  came  through 
the  door  which  led  from  the  auditorium  to  the 
stage.  She  was  followed  by  a  slight,  graceful 
girl,  a  blonde  with  clear  gray  eyes. 

"Mrs.  Castleman  —  Miss  Marvin,"  said  the 
prompter,  seeing  them  ;  "now  we  are  all  ready." 


THE    REHEARSAL   OF   THE    XEW    PLAY         161 

And  then  the  serious  business  of  the  rehearsal 
began.  Mrs.  Castleman  came  clown  to  the  centre 
of  the  stage  and  took  up  a  newspaper  and  read 
the  date  of  it  aloud,  and  remarked  that  it  was 
just  five  years  since  master  and  mistress  had 
parted  in  anger,  adding  that  neither  of  them 
had  put  foot  inside  the  old  house  in  all  the  five 
years,  and  yet  it  was  not  an  hour  from  Xew  York. 
Then  one  of  the  minor  actors,  an  awkward 
young  fellow,  one  of  the  two  who  had  been  stand 
ing  in  the  wings,  entered  with  a  telegram,  which 
he  gave  to  Mrs.  Castleman.  She  tore  it  open 
and  read  it  aloud  :  the  master  would  arrive  early 
that  evening.  Then  Miss  Marvin,  the  girl  with 
the  clear  blue  eyes,  came  forward  with  an  open 
letter  in  her  hand  and  told  Mrs.  Castleman  that 
the  mistress  of  the  house  would  be  home  again 
at  last  late  that  afternoon.  And  thus  the  re 
hearsal  went  on  gravely,  every  one  intent  upon 
the  business  in  hand.  The  speeches  of  the  actors 
were  interrupted  now  and  then  by  the  stage- 
manager.  '*  Take  the  last  scene  over  again, " 
he  might  command,  whereupon  the  performers 
would  resume  their  places  as  before  and  begin 
again.  •'•'  Don't  cross  till  he  takes  the  stage,  my 
dear.  And  when  he  says,  '  What  is  the  meaning 
of  this  ?'  don't  be  in  a  hurry.  Wait,  and  then 
say  your  aside.  •'  Can  he  suspect  ?'  in  a  hoarse 
whisper.  See  ?" 

Finally  there  was  a  jingle  of  sleigh-bells,  and 
the  orchestra,  beginning  faintly  and  slowly,  soon 


162        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

worked  up  to  a  swift  forte,  and  then  Miss  Daisy 
Fostelle  made  her  first  appearance  through  the 
broad  door  at  the  back  of  the  stage.  Finding 
that  she  had  taken  everybody  by  surprise,  she 
smiled  sweetly,  and  said,  "  You  didn't  expect 
me,  I  see — but  I  hope  you  are  all  glad  to  see  me 
once  more." 

A  thin,  cadaverous  man  with  a  heavy,  black 
mustache  here  stepped  forward  to  face  the  wife 
he  had  not  seen  for  five  years.  "  We  are  all  glad 
to  see  you  once  more, "he  had  to  say,  "very  glad 
indeed,  and  we  are  gladder  still  to  see  that  you 
seem  to  be  in  such  excellent  health  and  such 
high  spirits  !  The  separation  has  not  dimmed  the 
brightness  of  your  eyes,  nor —  Here  the  tall, 
gaunt  actor  stopped  and  hesitated.  "I  don't 
know  what's  the  matter  with  that  speech,"  he 
said,  impatiently,  "but  I  can't  get  it  into  my 
head.  I  never  had  such  tricky  lines  I" 

The  prompter  gave  him  the  word  he  needed, 
and  no  one  else  paid  any  attention  to  this  out 
break. 

The  two  authors  were  seated  at  the  table  in  the 
centre  of  the  footlights,  and  Harry  Brackett 
whispered  to  Carpenter  :  "  Stark  is  getting  the 
big  head,  isn't  he  ?  The  idea  of  a  mere  cuff- 
shooter  like  that  taking  himself  seriously  !" 

Then  there  followed  an  important  scene  in 
which  the  wife  gave  her  husband  a  witty  and 
vivacious  account  of  all  her  doings  during  the 
five  years  of  their  separation,  ending  with  the 


THE    REHEARSAL    OF    THE    XEW    PLAY         163 

startling  announcement  that  she  had  spent  six 
weeks  in  South  Dakota  and  had  there  procured 
a  divorce  from  him  !  But  there  is  no  need  to 
disclose  here  in  detail  the  plot  of  "  Touch  and 
Go,"  as  the  new  American  comedy  unfolded  itself 
scene  by  scene.  As  the  end  of  the  act  approach 
ed  Sherrington  pressed  the  actors  to  play  more 
briskly  so  as  to  bring  the  curtain  down  swiftly  on 
an  unexpected  but  carefully  prepared  tableau. 

When  the  act  was  over  the  stage  manager  had 
the  final  passages  repeated  twice,  to  make  sure 
of  its  going  smoothly  at  the  first  performance; 
and  then  the  stage  was  cleared  so  that  t»he  scene 
might  be  set  for  the  second  act. 

Carpenter  watched  the  graceful,  gray-eyed  girl 
go  back  into  the  dim  auditorium  and  take  a  seat 
beside  her  mother  :  and  his  heart  thumped  sud 
denly  as  he  found  himself  wondering  when  he 
would  dare  to  tell  her  that  lie  loved  her  and  to 
ask  her  to  be  his  wife.  Then  he  also  left  the 
stage  and  dropped  into  the  chair  behind  mother 
and  daughter. 

"  It  was  very  good  of  you  to  come  this  even 
ing.  Mrs.  Loraine."  he  began.  "  I  feel  as  if 
having  your  daughter  act  in  this  play  of  mine 
will  bring  me  luck  somehow." 

•'•'  The  idea  !"  said  Miss  Marvin,  smilingly. 

"  Mary  had  told  me  how  clever  the  piece  was/' 
the  elder  actress  responded,  "but  it  is  really 
better  than  she  said.  The  dialogue  is  very  bril 
liant  at  times,  and  the  characters  are  excellent- 


164         OUTLINES  IK  LOCAL  COLOR 

ly  contrasted — and,  what  is  more  important,,  the 
whole  thing  will  act  !  The  parts  carry  the  act 
ors  ;  they've  got  something  to  do  which  is  worth 
while  doing.  It  will  go  all  right  to-morrow 
night  !" 

"  It's  a  beautiful  piece/'  Mary  Marvin  de 
clared.,  "and  I  think  my  part  is  just  lovely  I" 

And  before  he  could  say  anything  in  fit  ac 
knowledgment,,  Mrs.  Loraine  went  on:  "Yes, 
Mary's  part  is  charming.  And  I  think  she  will 
play  it  very  well,  too  !" 

"  I'm  sure  of  it  !"  he  cried,  unhesitatingly. 

"I  think  there  is  more  in  it  than  I  thought 
at  first,"  said  Mary's  mother,  "  now  I've  seen 
the  play,  and  I'll  go  over  Mary's  part  with  her 
to-night  and  show  her  what  can  be  done  with  it. 
I'm  waiting  for  that  scene  in  the  second  act  with 
Fostelle.  I  think  that  Mary  ought  to  share  the 
call  after  that.  In  fact,  I'm  not  sure  that  she 
can't  take  the  scene  away  from  Fostelle." 

"Oh,  mother,"  the  daughter  broke  in,  "that 
would  never  do  !  I  should  get  my  two  weeks' 
notice  the  next  morning,  shouldn't  I  ?  And  I 
don't  want  to  be  out  of  an  engagement  just  at 
the  beginning  of  the  season  when  all  the  com 
panies  are  made  up." 

"Are  you  sure  that  the  ghost  will  walk  every 
week  with  this  Fostelle  company,  if  you  strike 
bad  business  for  a  month  or  so  ?"  asked  Mrs. 
Loraine,  with  a  suggestion  of  anxiety  in  her 
voice. 


THE    REHEARSAL    OF    THE    XEW    PLAY         165 

"  I  think  Zeke  Kilbnrn  is  all  right,"  the  dram 
atic  author  responded  ;  "  he  made  a  pile  of  mon 
ey  last  year  on  that  imported  melodrama,  the 
'  Doctor's  Daughter ' ;  and.  besides,  he  has  a 
backer." 

Mrs.  Loraine  laughed  gently,  showing  her  beau 
tifully  regular  teeth.  She  was  still  a  handsome 
woman,  with  a  fine  figure  and  a  crown  of  silver 
hair. 

••'A  backer?"  she  rejoined:  ''but  who  backs 
the  backer  ?  I've  heard  your  friend.  Mr.  Brack- 
ett.  there,  say  that  a  jay  and  his  money  are  soon 
parted." 

Carpenter  answered  her  earnestly.  •'•'!  really 
think  Kilburn  is  pretty  solid,  but  I  suppose  that 
a  great  deal  does  depend  on  the  way  that  the 
play  draws.  They've  got  open  time  here  in  Xew 
York,  and  if  'Touch  and  Go'  catches  on  they 
can  stay  here  till  Christinas.  So  it  comes  down 
to  this,  that  if  our  piece  is  a  go  the  ghost  will 
walk  regularly." 

•'•  I  hope  it  will  make  a  hit,"  Mrs.  Loraine  an 
swered,  '-for  your  sake,  too.  You  haven't  sold 
it  outright,  have  you  ?" 

"  Xo,  indeed,"  the  young  dramatist  replied. 
"  Harry  Brackett  is  too  old  in  the  business  for 
that.  We've  got  a  nightly  royalty,  with  a  per 
centage  on  the  gross  whenever  it  plays  to  more 
than  four  thousand  dollars  a  week.  We  stand 
to  make  a  lot  of  money — if  it  makes  a  hit.  What 
do  you  think  of  its  chances,  Mrs.  Loraine  ?" 


166        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

"  The  first  act  is  all  right/'7  she  responded. 
"  That's  the  most  I  can  say  now.  But  come 
and  ask  me  after  I've  seen  the  third  act  and 
I'll  tell  you  what  I  think,  and  I  believe  I  can 
then  prophesy  its  fate  pretty  well." 

By  this  time  the  scene  of  the  second  act  had 
been  set.  It  represented  a  stone  summer-house 
on  the  top  of  a  hill  overlooking  the  Hudson  just 
below  West  Point.  It  was  picturesque  in  itself, 
and  it  was  ingeniously  arranged  to  provide  op 
portunities  for  effective  stage  business. 

Carpenter  accompanied  Miss  Marvin  back  to 
the  stage  when  the  time  drew  nigh  for  the  sec 
ond  act  to  begin. 

As  he  was  passing  through  the  door  between 
the  auditorium  and  the  stage,  he  found  himself 
face  to  face  with  Dresser,  who  was  fidgeting  to 
and  fro. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Carpenter/'  he  cried,  "  I'm  so  glad 
to  see  you !  I  want  to  ask  your  opinion  about 
this.  After  all,  you  know,  you  wrote  the  play, 
and  you  ought  to  be  able  to  decide.  In  my 
scene  with  Marvin  in  this  act,  am  I  really  in 
love  with  her  then,  or  ain't  I  ?  Sherrington 
says  I  am,  but  I  think  it's  a  great  deal  funnier 
if  I'm  not  in  love  with  her  then  —  it  helps  to 
work  up  the  last  act  better.  Now  what  do  you 
think  ?  Sherrington  insists  that  his  way  of  play 
ing  it  is  more  dramatic.  Well,  I  don't  say  it 
ain't,  but  it  isn't  half  as  funny,  is  it  ?" 

After  Carpenter  had  given   his  opinion  upon 


THE    REHEARSAL    OF    THE    NEW    PLAY         167 

this  question,  Dresser  allowed  him  to  escape. 
But  he  had  not  advanced  ten  yards  before  he 
was  claimed  by  Mrs.  Castleman. 

"  Mr.  Carpenter,*'  the  elderly  actress  began, 
in  her  usual  haughtily  dignified  manner,  "how 
do  you  think  I  ought  to  dress  this  part  in  the 
first  act  ?  She's  a  house-keeper,  isn't  she  ?  So 
I  suppose  I  ought  to  wear  an  apron." 

The  young  dramatist  expressed  his  belief  that 
perhaps  an  apron  would  be  a  proper  thing  for 
the  house-keeper  to  wear  in  the  first  act. 

•'•'  But  not  a  cap,  I  hope  ?"  urged  Mrs.  Castleman. 

Carpenter  doubted  if  a  cap  would  be  necessary. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mrs.  Castleman.  "You 
see,  I  have  always  hitherto  been  associated  with 
the  legitimate,  and  I  really  don't  quite  know 
what  to  do  with  this  sort  of  thing.'''  Then  she 
suddenly  paused,  only  to  break  out  again  impetu 
ously  :  •'  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon.  Mr.  Carpen 
ter,  really  I  did  not  mean  to  imply  that  this 
charming  play  of  yours  is  not  legitimate — " 

The  dramatic  author  laughed.  ••'  You  needn't 
apologize,'''  he  declared;  ••'I'm  inclined  to  think 
that  '  Touch  and  Go '  is  so  illegitimate  now  that 
its  own  parents  can't  recognize  it  !" 

At  last  the  rehearsal  of  the  second  act  began, 
the  two  authors  sitting  at  the  little  table  with  the 
stage-manager. 

Sherrington  consulted  them  once  or  twice  in 
regard  to  the  omission  of  a  line  here  and  there. 

*'•  Cut  it   down  to  the  bone  when   YOU  can — 


168        OUTLINES  IK  LOCAL  COLOR 

that's  what  I  say/'  he  explained;  "what  you  cut 
out  can't  make  people  yawn." 

But  once  he  stopped  the  rehearsal  to  sug 
gest  that  a  speech  be  written  in.  "You've  got 
to  make  that  complication  mighty  clear/'  he  de 
clared,  "and  this  is  the  place  to  do  it,  I  think. 
If  you  want  them  to  understand  that  Dresser 
here  is  going  to  mistake  Marvin  for  Fostelle  in 
the  next  scene,  you  had  better  give  him  another 
line  now  to  lead  up  to  it." 

The  two  authors  consulted  hastily,  and  Car 
penter,  drawing  out  a  note -book  and  a  pencil, 
hurriedly  wrote  a  sentence,  which  he  showed  to 
Brackett. 

"  That  '11  do  it,"  said  Sherrington;  and  he  read 
it  aloud  to  Dresser,  who  borrowed  Carpenter's 
pencil  and  wrote  in  the  line  on  the  manuscript 
of  his  part,  wondering  aloud  whether  he  should 
ever  remember  it  on  the  first  night. 

A  few  minutes  later  Sherrington  again  inter 
rupted  the  actors  to  insist  that  the  sunset  effect 
should  be  adjusted  carefully  to  accompany  the 
spoken  dialogue. 

"I  want  a  soft,  rosy  tinge  on  Fostelle  in  this 
scene,"  he  explained. 

"Quite  right/'  laughed  the  black -eyed  star; 
"  that  ought  to  be  becoming  to  my  style  of 
beauty." 

"  And  I  want  it  to  contrast  with  the  blue  moon 
light  in  the  scene  with  Marvin/'  said  the  stage- 


THE    REHEARSAL    OF    THE    XEW    PLAY          169 

"  Quite  right  again,"  Miss  Daisy  Fostelle  com 
mented.  "I'll  take  the  centre  of  the  stage,  and 
you  will  order  calciums  for  one  !" 

"We  had  better  go  back  to  your  entrance,  I 
think,"  Sherringtoii  decided,  "and  take  the 
whole  scene  over." 

The  actors  and  actresses  obediently  resumed 
the  positions  they  had  occupied  when  Miss  Daisy 
Fostelle  made  her  first  appearance  in  that  act. 
The  cue  for  her  entrance  was  given,  and  she 
came  forward  with  a  burst  of  artificial  laughter. 

"That  laugh  was  very  good,"  Sherringtoii  de 
clared—  "  better  than  it  was  last-time:  but  you 
must  make  it  as  hollow  as  you  can.  Remember 
the  situation  :  your  best  young  man  has  gone 
back  on  you  and  you  are  trying  to  keep  a  stiff 
tipper-lip — but  your  heart  is  breaking  all  the 
same.  See  ?" 

The  star  repeated  the  laugh,  and  it  was  more 
obviously  artificial. 

"That's  it,  my  dear."  said  the  stage-manager. 
"Xow  keep  it  up  till  you  cross,  and  then  drop 
into  that  chair  there,  and  then  you  let  the  laugh 
die  away  into  a  sob.'' 

The  star  went  back  to  the  rustic  gate  by  which 
she  had  entered,  laughed  again,  and  came  for 
ward  :  then  she  crossed  the  stage,  sank  upon  a 
seat,  and  choked  with  a  sob. 

Carpenter  stepped  forward  and  whispered  into 
Sherrington's  ear,  whereupon  Miss  Fostelle  sat 
upright  instantly  and  very  suspiciously  asked. 


170        OUTLIKES  IK  LOCAL  COLOR 

"What's  that  ?  Fd  rather  have  you  say  it  out 
loud  than  whisper  it  !" 

The  young  dramatist  explained  at  once. 

"I  was  only  suggesting  to  Sherrington  that 
perhaps  it  would  be  better  if  that  seat  were 
turned  a  little  so  that  you  were  not  so  sideways : 
then  the  audience  would  get  a  full  view  of  your 
face  here." 

"It  would  be  a  pity  to  deprive  them  of  that, 
Fll  admit/'  said  the  mollified  actress,  as  she  and 
the  stage  -  manager  slightly  turned  the  rustic 
chair. 

Then  she  dropped  into  the  seat  and  repeated 
her  sob. 

Miss  Marvin  stepped  upon  the  stage,  and  re 
marked  to  space,  "  What  a  lovely  evening,  and 
how  glorious  the  sunset  I"  Then  she  stood  si 
lently  watching. 

Miss  Daisy  Fostelle  sobbed  again,  and,  in  tones 
heavy-laden  with  tears,  she  said,  "What  have  I  to 
live  for  now  ?"  Looking  back  at  the  other  actress 
she  remarked,  in  her  ordinary  voice,  "You  will 
give  me  time  to  pick  myself  up  here,  won't  you  ?" 
Then  she  went  on,  in  the  former  tear-stained  ac 
cents,  "  What  have  I  left  to  live  for  now  ?  My 
heart  is  broken  !  My  heart  is  broken  !"  Again 
she  resumed  her  every-day  tones  to  ask  the  stage- 
manager  :  "Is  that  all  right  ?  Am  I  far  enough 
around  now  ?" 

Thus  they  came  to  perhaps  the  most  important 
scene  of  the  play — that  between  the  Stellar  At- 


THE    REHEARSAL   OF   THE    XE\V    PLAY          171 

traction  (as  Brackett  liked  to  call  her)  and  the 
girl  Carpenter  was  in  love  with.  Both  actresses 
were  well  fitted  to  the  characters  they  had  to  per 
form.  Carpenter,  who  had  no  liking  for  Daisy 
Fostelle.  was  a  little  surprised  at  the  judgment 
and  skill  with  which  she  carried  off  the  bra 
vura  passages  of  her  part  ;  and  he  was  not  a  lit 
tle  charmed  with  the  delicate  force  the  gentle 
Mary  Marvin  revealed  in  the  contrasting  char 
acter. 

And  so  the  rehearsal  proceeded  laboriously, 
Sherrington  directing  it  autocratically,  ordering 
certain  scenes  to  be  played  more  rapidly  and  see- 
ins:  that  others  were  taken  more  slowly,  so  that 
the  spectators  might  have  time  to  understand  the 
situation.  Xow  and  then  either  Carpenter  or 
Brackett  made  a  suggestion  or  a  criticism,  but 
both  yielded  to  Sherrington.  if  he  was  insistent. 
The  stage -manager  kept  the  whole  company  of 
actors  up  to  their  work,  and  imposed  on  them 
his  understanding  of  that  work,  much  as  the 
conductor  of  an  orchestra  leads  his  musicians  at 
the  performance  of  a  symphony. 

When  the  whole  act  had  been  rehearsed,  and 
the  final  scene  was  repeated  three  or  four  times 
until  it  ran  like  well-oiled  clockwork,  the  stage 
was  cleared  so  that  the  scenery  of  the  third  act 
might  be  set. 

Sherrington  accompanied  Miss  Marvin  through 
the  door  behind  the  proscenium  box  into  the  dark 
auditorium. 


172        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOE 

"You  will  play  that  scene  very  well,"  he  said, 
"but  you've  got  to  have  confidence." 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  part,  isn't  it  ?"  she  respond 
ed,  with  enthusiasm.  "  I  never  had  a  part  I  could 
enjoy  playing  so  much." 

Carpenter  was  about  to  leave  the  stage  to  tell 
Mary  what  a  delight  it  was  to  him  to  hear  her 
speak  the  words  he  had  written,  Avlien  his  collab 
orator  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder.  As  he  turned 
Harry  Brackett  whispered  in  his  ear  : 

"Look  out  for  the  Stellar  Attraction.  I'm 
afraid  she  has  just  dropped  on  Marvin's  part. 
If  she  once  suspects  that  the  little  girl  may  get 
that  scene  away  from  her,  she  can  make  herself 
mightily  disagreeable  all  round.  I  guess  we  had 
better  go  up  and  tell  her  she  is  a  greater  actress 
than  Charlotte  Cushman." 

Carpenter  laughingly  answered:  "Take  care 
she  doesn't  drop  on  you  !  It  would  be  worse  if 
she  thought  you  were  guying  her." 

"There's  no  danger  of  that,"  Harry  Brackett 
returned.  "  That  Stellar  Attraction  of  ours  is  a 
boa-constrictor  for  flattery — there  isn't  anything 
she  won't  swallow." 

The  two  dramatic  authors  found  Miss  Daisy 
Fostelle  standing  in  the  wings  and  discussing 
with  Dresser  the  personal  peculiarities  of  another 
member  of  the  dramatic  profession. 

As  Carpenter  and  Brackett  came  up  the  actress 
was  saying  :  "  Why,  she  had  the  cheek  actually 
to  tell  me  I  was  more  amusing  off  the  stage  than 


THE    REHEARSAL    OF    THE    NEW    PLAY         173 

on— the  cat  !  But  I  got  even  with  her.  I  told 
her  I  was  sorry  I  couldn't  return  the  compli 
ment,  for  she  was  even  less  amusing  on  the 
stage  than  off  !" 

The  two  dramatists  joined  in  the  laugh,  and 
then  Harry  Brackett  began. 

"Is  it  your  hated  rival  you  are  having  fun 
with  ?"  he  asked.  "  Well,  if  she  comes  to  see 
you  in  this  play  to-morrow  they'll  have  to  put 
a  waterproof  carpet  into  the  private  box,  for 
she  will  weep  bitter  tears  of  despair  while  she's 
watching  you  in  this  second  act  of  ours.'' 

Miss  Daisy  Fostelle  snapped  her  big  black  eyes 
at  him  and  smiled  with  pleasure. 

"Yes,"  she  admitted.  "I  don't  believe  she 
will  really  enjoy  that  scene — and  yet  she'll  have 
to  give  me  a  hand  at  the  end  of  the  act.'' 

"  She'll  go  through  the  motions,  perhaps." 
Brackett  returned,  "but  she  won't  burst  a  hole 
in  her  gloves.'"  Then  he  slyly  nudged  his  col 
laborator. 

"The  fact  is/"  began  Carpenter,  thus  admon 
ished,  "I  was  just  going  to  tell  Harry  Brackett 
here  that  maybe  we  have  made  a  mistake  in  writ 
ing  you  a  high-comedy  part  like  this — " 

The  actress  flashed  a  suspicious  glance  at  him,, 
but  he  went  on  as  if  unconscious  of  this. 

"We  can  see  now."  he  continued,  "'that  you 
are  going  to  play  this  part  so  well  that  you  will 
make  a  great  hit  in  it.  and  then  the  critics  will 
all  be  after  you  to  play  Lady  Teazle  and  Rosalind. 


174        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOK 

They'll  tell  you  that  yon  are  only  wasting  your 
talents  in  modern  plays  arid  that  you  ought  to 
devote  yourself  to  the  legitimate.'' 

The  suspicion  faded  from  Miss  Daisy  Fostelle's 
face  and  the  smile  of  pleasure  reappeared. 

"  That's  so,"  Harry  Brackett  declared.  "  You 
will  make  such  a  hit  in  this  part,  I'm  afraid,,  that 
Sheridan  and  Shakespeare  will  be  good  enough 
for  you  next  season.  Now  that  would  be  taking 
the  bread  out  of  our  mouths  !" 

The  actress  laughed  easily.  "  I  don't  think 
you  would  starve/'  she  returned  ;  "and  I  might, 
maybe — if  I  took  to  the  legitimate.  Not  that  it 
would  be  my  first  attempt,  either,  for  I  played 
Ariel  in  the  '  Tempest '  when  I  was  a  mere  child. 
And  it  wasn't  easy,  I  can  tell  you.  Ariel's  a 
real  hard  part,  I  think  ;  there's  a  certain  swing 
to  the  words,  too,  and  you  can't  make  up  a  line 
of  your  own  if  you  get  stuck,  as  I  could  in  this 
piece  of  yours." 

"  No,"  Brackett  confessed,  solemnly,  "  the  dia 
logue  of  '  Touch  and  Go  '  is  not  as  rhythmic  as 
the  dialogue  of  the  '  Tempest/' 

"And  I've  played  Francois  in  ( Richelieu,'  too," 
continued  Miss  Fostelle.  "But  I  don't  think  I 
really  like  any  of  those  Shakespearian  parts." 

"  No/'  Brackett  confessed  again,  with  fearless 
gravity,  "  Franc,  ois  is  not  one  of  Shakespeare's 
best  parts.  It  wasn't  worthy  of  you,  no  matter 
how  inexperienced  you  were.  But  Rosalind, 
now,  as  Carpenter  suggests,  and  Beatrice — " 


THE    REHEARSAL    OF    THE    NEW    PLAY         175 

Carpenter  here  guessed  from  Dressers  spas 
modic  manner  that  the  actor  was  about  to  inter 
vene  in  the  conversation,  and  not  knowing  what 
might  be  the  result,  the  younger  of  the  drama 
tists  dropped  out  of  the  group  and  managed  to 
draw  Dresser  away  with  him. 

After  they  had  exchanged  a  few  words  Car 
penter  looked  into  the  auditorium  to  discover 
where  Mary  Marvin  might  be.  He  saw  that  she 
was  by  the  side  of  her  mother,  and  that  Mrs. 
Loraine  and  Sherrington  were  still  engaged  in 
an  earnest  conversation.  He  made  a  movement 
as  if  to  leave  Dresser,  whereupon  the  comedian 
begged  him  for  a  moment's  interview. 

•'•"Its  about  that  speech  of  mine  in  the  third 
act  that  I  want  to  make  a  suggestion/''*  said  the 
actor.  "  It's  a  very  good  speech,  too.  and  I  think 
I  can  get  three  laughs  out  of  it,  easy.  You  know 
the  speech.  I  mean  the  one  about  the  three  old 
maids  :  •'  There  were  three  old  maids  in  our 
town;  one  was  as  plain  as  a  pikestaff,  and  the 
other  was  as  homely  as  a  hedge  fence,  and  the 
third  was  as  ugly  as  sin  ;  and  whenever  they  all 
three  walked  out  together  every  clock  in  the  place 
stopped  short.  Their  parents  had  christened 
them  Faith  and  Hope  and  Charity :  but  the  boys 
always  called  them  Battle  and  Murder  and  Sud 
den  Death.'  Xow.  don't  you  think  it  would  help 
to  ring  out  the  point  more  if  the  orchestra  was 
to  play  'Grandfather's  Clock'  very  gently  just 
as  I  say  that  •  every  clock  in  the  place  stopped 


176         OUTLINES  IIS"  LOCAL  COLOR 

short'  ?  What  do  you  think  ?  That's  my  own 
idea  I" 

The  dramatist  said  nothing  for  a  second  or 
two,  and  then  told  the  actor  to  consult  the  stage- 
manager,  who  was  just  returning  to  begin  the  re 
hearsal  of  the  third  act. 

The  new  scene  had  been  set  swiftly  and  the 
furniture  was  already  in  place.  The  first  of  the 
actors  to  enter  was  the  cadaverous  and  irritable 
Stark.  He  began  glibly  enough,  but  soon  hesi 
tated  for  a  word,  and  then  broke  out  impatient 
ly,  regardless  of  the  presence  of  the  two  authors  : 
"  Oh,  I  can't  get  that  line  into  my  head  !  And 
I  don't  know  what  it  means,  either  !  How  can 
you  expect  a  man  to  speak  such  rubbish  ?" 

As  before,  nobody  paid  any  attention  to  this 
petulance,  and  the  actor  went  on  with  his  part 
without  further  comment. 

Dresser  then  entered,  and  the  two  men  pro 
ceeded  to  misunderstand  eacli  other  in  the  most 
elaborate  fashion.  The  character  which  Stark 
represented  had  reason  to  believe  that  the  char 
acter  that  Dresser  represented  was  the  uncle 
of  the  character  that  Daisy  Fostelle  represented 
and  was  also  a  soldier.  In  like  manner  Dresser 
had  reason  to  believe  that  Stark  was  the  lady's 
uncle  and  also  a  sailor.  They  addressed  each 
other,  therefore,  in  sailor  talk  and  in  soldier 
talk  ;  and  the  fun  waxed  fast  and  furious.  At  the 
height  of  the  misunderstanding  Daisy  Fostelle  en 
tered  unexpectedly  and  found  herself  instant- 


THE    REHEARSAL    OF   THE    XEW    PLAY         177 

ly  immeshed  in  the  humorous  complication,  with 
no  possibility  of  plausible  explanation. 

Once  the  stage-manager  reminded  Dresser  that 
he  had  omitted  a  phrase.  "You  left  out  ''Con 
found  it.  man  !* "  he  said. 

'•'  I  know  it,"  the  actor  explained,  '•'  but  I 
wanted  to  save  it  to  use  in  my  next  speech.  It 
goes  better  there — you  see  if  it  does  not." 

And  Sherrington  decided  that  "  Confound  it, 
man  !"  was  more  effective  in  the  later  speech  :  so 
the  transposition  was  authorized,  to  Dresser's  sat 
isfaction. 

The  stage -manager  had  this  important  scene 
of  mutual  misunderstanding  between  Stark  and 
Dresser  and  Daisy  Fostelle  repeated  twice,  until 
every  word  fell  glibly  and  every  gesture  seemed 
automatic.  And  so  the  rehearsal  went  to  the 
end,  Sherrington  applying  the  finishing  touches, 
and  seeming  at  last  to  be  fairly  well  satisfied  with 
the  result  of  his  labors. 

The  final  lines  of  the  comedy  were,  of  course, 
to  be  delivered  by  the  star  ;  but  when  the  cue  was 
given  to  her  Miss  Fostelle  simply  said  "  Tag  !" 
everybody  being  aware  that  it  is  very  unlucky  to 
speak  the  last  speech  of  a  play  at  a  rehearsal — as 
unlucky  as  it  is  to  put  up  an  umbrella  on  the 
stage,  or  to  quote  from  "Macbeth." 

"  That  will  do."  said  the  stage-manager  ;  ft  I 
think  it  will  be  all  right  to-morrow  night." 

And  with  that  the  rehearsal  concluded  and 
the  company  began  to  disperse. 

12 


178        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

"  I  hope  it  is  all  right/'  Harry  Brackett  re 
marked  to  Carpenter,  "and  I  think  it  is.  But  I 
shall  have  a  great  deal  more  confidence  after  the 
man  in  the  box-office  shakes  hands  with  me  cord 
ially,  say,  next  Wednesday  or  Thursday,  and  in 
quires  about  my  health.  He'll  know  by  that  time 
whether  we've  got  a  good  thing  or  not  !" 

Carpenter  helped  Miss  Marvin  to  put  on  her 
light  cape.  Then,  after  her  mother  had  joined 
them,  they  said  good-night  to  the  others  and  left 
the  theatre  together. 

When  they  came  out  into  the  warm  night  the 
street  was  quieter  than  it  had  been  when  Carpen 
ter  entered  the  theatre.  There  were  fewer  cable- 
cars  passing  the  door,  and  the  trains  on  the  ele 
vated  road  in  the  avenue  were  now  infrequent. 
The  lights  had  been  turned  out  in  front  of  the 
variety  show  across  the  way,  and  evidently  the 
grand  sacred  concert  was  over.  The  moon  had 
sunk,  and  before  they  had  gone  a  block  the  bell 
of  the  church  tolled  the  hour  of  midnight. 

The  young  man  who  was  walking  by  the  side 
of  Mrs.  Loraine  broke  the  silence  at  last. 

"Well,"  he  asked,  "what  do  you  think  of  the 
play  now  ?" 

"I  think  it  is  a  good  piece  of  its  kind,"  the 
elder  actress  answered — "a  very  good  piece  of  its 
kind  ;  and  it  is  well  staged  ;  and  it  will  be  well 
acted,  too.  Sherrington  knows  how  to  get  his 
best  work  out  of  everybody.  Yes,  it  will  be  a 
success." 


THE    REHEARSAL    OF    THE    XEW    PLAY         179 

'•'  Is  it  good  for  three  months  here  now  ?"  the 
young  author  asked,  '-and  for  the  rest  of  the 
season  on  the  road  ?" 

•'•'  Oh  yes.  indeed. "replied  Mrs.  Loraine  :  "yes, 
indeed.  It's  safe  for  a  hundred  nights  here  at 
least  !" 

They  paused  at  the  corner  to  wait  for  a  cable- 
car,  and  Sherrington  joined  them. 

This  gave  Carpenter  a  chance  to  lead  the 
daughter  away  from  the  mother  half  a  dozen 
steps. 

•'•  I'm  so  glad  mother  thinks  the  play  will  go,'v 
the  girl  began.  "And  mother  is  a  very  good 
judge,  too.  You  ought  to  make  a  lot  out  of  it/' 

The  young  dramatist  felt  that  he  had  his  chance 
at  last. 

*'•  I've  wanted  to  make  money  mainly  for  one 
reason."  he  returned  ;  •'•'  I  wanted  to  ask  you  to 
take  half  of  it." 

•'•'Half  of  it  ?"  she  echoed,  as  though  she  did 
not  understand. 

•"•'  Oh.  well — all  of  it/"  he  responded,  swiftly ; 
'•'and  me  with  it." 

••'Mr.  Carpenter  !"  she  cried,  and  her  blushes 
made  her  look  even  lovelier  than  before. 

"  Won't  you  marry  me  ?"  he  asked,  ardently. 

"  Oh.  I  suppose  I've  got  to  say  yes."  she  an 
swered,  •'•'or  else  you'll  go  down  on  your  knees 
here  in  the  street  !v 

(1896) 


-' r 


ftt 


.  in  •  @ 


MI  ®  in  e  KI  e  IN  g  in 


® 


(5Z,  ^r/h//t-  in  the  Sl 


JTTLE  Miss  Peters  had  given  a  last 
look  to  the  dinner-table  with  its  ef 
fective  decoration  of  autumn  leaves, 
and  she  had  made  sure  that  the  cards 
were  in  their  proper  places.  She  had 
glanced  at  herself  in  the  mirror  of  the  music-room 
as  she  passed  through,  and  she  had  smiled  to  see 
the  little  spot  of  color  burning  in  her  cheek.  She 
had  taken  her  place  modestly  behind  her  employ 
er,  the  portly  hostess,  and  she  had  seen  the  guests 
arrive  one  by  one.  She  had  remarked  the  cheer 
ful  eagerness  of  the  young  Irishman  for  whose 
sake  the  company  had  gathered,  and  she  had 
frankly  admired  his  good  looks.  Xow  she  was 
sitting  silently  in  her  seat  at  the  table,  and  she 
was  wondering  what  the  stranger  would  think  of 
them  all. 

It  would  not  be  quite  fair  to  the  worthy  widow 
to  say  that  Mrs.  Canton's  dinners  were  always 
ponderous  :  but  it  might  be  admitted  that,  al 
though  the  cooking  was  ever  excellent  and  the 
guests  were  selected  from  the  innermost  circle  of 
Society,  the  bill  of  fare  was  monotonous  and  the 
•conversation  often  lacked  variety.  That  evening, 
however,  there  were  several  present  who  had  not 
before  been  honored  with  invitations  to  dine  in 


184        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

that  exclusive  mansion.  Few  people  of  fashion 
were  back  in  town  so  early  in  October,  and  it  had 
not  been  easy  for  Mrs.  Canton  to  make  up  her 
complement  of  guests  when  she  found  that  she 
had  suddenly  to  honor  a  letter  of  introduction 
Lord  Mannington  had  given  to  the  Honorable 
Gilbert  Barry,  brother  of  Lord  Punchestown. 
She  had  heard  that  the  handsome  Irishman  had 
been  a  great  success  at  Lenox,,  and  that  all  the 
girls  were  wild  about  him.  In  Mannington's  let 
ter  she  was  informed  that  the  young  man  went 
in  for  slumming  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  and 
that  he  had  been  living  in  Toynbee  Hall ;  she 
was  besought,  therefore,  to  make  him  acquainted 
with  the  people  in  New  York  most  interested  in 
the  elevation  of  the  lower  classes. 

This  sentence  of  Lord  Mannington's  letter  it 
was  that  had  caused  Mrs.  Canton  to  invite  Ku- 
pert  de  Ruyter,  the  novelist,  for  she  happened  to 
have  read  one  of  his  stories  about  the  wretched 
creatures  living  down  in  the  Italian  quarter,  and 
she  was  sure  he  would  be  able  to  tell  Mr.  Barry 
all  that  the  young  Irishman  might  \vant  to  know 
about  the  slums  of  New  York.  She  had  been 
fortunate  enough  to  get  the  Jimmy  Suydams, 
too  ;  and  she  knew  that  Mrs.  Jimmy  took  such 
an  interest  in  the  poor,  acting  as  patroness  so 
often,  and  all  that.  Then  when  little  Miss  Peters 
had  come  in  to  write  the  invitations  and  to  bal 
ance  the  check-book  and  to  answer  the  accumu 
lated  notes,  Mrs.  Canton,  having  gone  over  the 


A    CANDLE    IX    THE    PLATE  185 

list,  looked  at  the  pretty  young  secretary  for  a 
minute  without  speaking,  and  then  said,  '•'  It 
won't  be  easy  to  get  just  the  people  one  wants. 
AVhy  shouldn't  you  come.  Miss  Peters  ?  You 
belong  to  one  of  those  things,  you  know,  what 
do  you  call  them — Working  Girls'  Clubs — cloirt 
you  ?" 

'•I'm  a  working  girl  myself,  am  I  not  ?''  Miss 
Peters  answered.  "  And  I  reckon  I'm  very  glad 
I've  gotten  the  work  to  do." 

'•'  Then  you  can  tell  him  anything  Mr.  de 
Ruyter  doesn't  know  about  these  sort  of  people. 
How  absurd  for  the  younger  brother  of  a  peer  to 
bother  himself  about  such  things  over  here,  isn't 
it  ?"  Mrs.  Canton  had  returned.  ••Then  that's 
settled." 

Although  the  Southern  girl  had  not  relished 
the  way  the  invitation  had  been  proffered,  she 
had  not  declined  it.  glad  to  get  a  glimpse  again 
of  the  life  of  luxury  to  which  she  had  been  a 
stranger  since  she  had  been  earning  her  own 
living  :  and  thus  it  was  that  she  was  sitting  si 
lently  in  her  seat  at  the  dinner-table  that  even 
ing  in  October,  with  Gilbert  Barry  and  Rupert 
de  Ruyter  opposite  to  her.  She  did  not  seem  to 
notice  how  the  young  Irishman  glanced  across 
the  table  at  her  more  than  once  with  obvious 
admiration,  or  how  he  tried  to  lure  her  into  the 
conversation. 

It  irritated  Miss  Peters  to  have  Rupert  de  Ruy 
ter  monopolize  the  talk.  His  rather  rasping  voice 


186  OUTLINES    IN   LOCAL   COLOR 

sawed  her  nerves,  and  she  detested  the  way  he 
thrust  forward  his  square  chin.  She  listened 
while  he  chattered  along,  not  boasting  exactly, 
yet  managing  to  convey  the  impression  that  he 
knew  more  than  any  one  else.  Now  and  again  he 
did  bring  forth  a  picturesque  fact,  for  which  he 
had  the  kodak  eye  of  a  reporter.  He  had  the 
happy-go-lucky  facility  of  the  newspaper  man, 
and  he  rattled  away  with  more  than  one  absurd 
misapprehension  of  the  reality,  until  he  remind 
ed  her  of  a  singer  with  a  fine  voice  but  unable  to 
avoid  false  notes. 

"I  don't  pretend  to  know  New  York  inside- 
out  and  upsidedown,"  he  was  saying;  '"but  it 
is  a  most  fascinating  study,  this  polyglot  city  of 
ours,  and  the  more  you  push  your  investigations 
the  more  likely  you  are  to  make  surprising  dis 
coveries.  You  know  we  have  an  Italian  quarter 
here  ?" 

This  was  addressed,  perhaps,  to  the  British 
guest,  but  it  was  Mrs.  Jimmy  Suydam  who  an 
swered  it. 

"  Of  course  we  do,"  she  said  ;  "  haven't  we  all 
read  that  thrilling  story  you  wrote  about  it  ? — 
the  story  with  the  startling  title — A  Vision  of 
Black  Despair." 

The  author  flushed  with  pride  that  so  hand 
some  a  woman  and  so  exclusive  a  leader  of  Soci 
ety  should  thus  praise  one  of  his  writings. 

Mr.  Jimmy  Suydam  leaned  over  to  Mrs.  Can 
ton,  at  whose  left  he  was  sitting,  and  said,  "I 


A    CAXDLE    IX    THE    PLATE  187 

don't  see  how  my  wife  does  it,  do  you  ?  She 
keeps  tip  with  everything,  you  know — reads  all 
the  books — and  all  that." 

"I  didn't  mean  to  remind  you  of  that  little 
thing  of  mine,"  continued  De  Euyter.  with  a 
self-satisfied  air  that  made  little  Miss  Peters  feel 
as  though  she  would  like  to  stick  a  pin  in  him. 
'•'That's  neither  here  nor  there,  though  I  spent 
two  days  down  in  the  Italian  quarter  getting  up 
the  local  color  for  it.  But  what  you  didn't  know, 
any  of  you.  I  am  certain,  is  that  part  of  the  soil 
of  this  city  was  imported  from  Italy." 

••Really,  now,"'  commented  the  British  guest, 
'•'that  is  very  interesting,  indeed.  It  would  be 
from  a  religious  motive.  I  suppose — just  as  some 
of  the  mediaeval  cemeteries  had  earth  brought 
from  the  Holy  Land  ?" 

*'•'  That  would  be  a  more  romantic  reason,  no 
doubt."  the  story-teller  explained.  •'•'  But  the  real 
one  is  very  prosaic.  I  fear.  The  Italian  soil  here 
in  Xew  York  was  brought  over  as  ballast  by  the 
ships  that  were  going  to  take  back  our  bread- 
stuffs.  There  is  lot  after  lot  upon  the  Harlem 
that  has  been  filled  in  with  this  ballast — stones 
mostly,  but  some  of  it  is  earth." 

•'•  Genoa  the  superb  providing  a  foundation  for 
imperial  Xew  York."  said  the  young  Irishman, 
with  a  little  flourish — and  Miss  Peters  guessed 
that  De  Euyter  made  a  mental  note  of  the  figure 
for  future  elaboration.  "And  has  Xew  York  a 
volcano  under  the  city  like  Xaples.  now  ? — like 


188  OUTLINES    IN    LOCAL   COLOR 

every  great  town  in  Europe  for  the  matter  of 
that.  Have  yon  a  seething  mass  of  want  and 
misery  and  discontent,,  such  as  boiled  over  in 
Paris  under  the  Commune  ?  That's  what  Fm 
wanting  to  find  out." 

"We  have  a  devil's  cauldron  of  our  own,  if 
that's  what  you  mean/'  responded  De  Euyter  ; 
"  and  we  have  people  from  every  corner  of  the 
globe  here  now  helping  to  keep  the  pot  a-boiling. 
We  have  Russian  Jews  by  the  thousand,  living 
just  as  they  did  in  the  Pale.  We  have  Chinese 
enough  to  support  a  Chinese  theatre.  We  have 
so  many  Syrians  now  that  they  are  pre-empting 
certain  blocks  for  themselves.  We  have  Irish 
peasants  so  timid  and  suspicious  that  they  won't 
go  to  the  hospital  when  they  are  almost  dying, 
because  they  believe  the  doctors  keep  a  Black 
Bottle  to  be  administered  to  troublesome  pa 
tients." 

"I  should  think  they  would  be  ever  so  much 
more  comfortable  in  a  roomy  hospital  than  in 
their  stuffy  little  tenement -house  rooms/'  said 
Mrs.  Jimmy  ;  "  and  they  can't  get  decent  nursing 
in  their  own  homes,  can  they  ?" 

"The  poor  are  a  most  unreasonable  lot — and 
ungrateful,  too/'  added  Mr.  Stiydam  ;  "that's 
what  I  think." 

"  They  are  not  so  badly  off  in  their  tenement- 
houses  as  you  might  think/'  explained  De  Ruyter. 
"They  help  each  other  with  the  children  when 
there's  sickness." 


A    CAXDLE    IX    THE    PLATE  189 

'•'The  universal  freemasonry  of  motherhood," 
commented  Gilbert  Barry  ;  and  again  Miss  Peters 
suspected  the  story-teller  of  making  a  mental 
record  of  the  phrase. 

•'•'  They  are  impossible  to  understand/''  De 
Ruyter  declared. 

'•  Why  ?"  asked  Miss  Peters,  suddenly,  across 
the  table,  to  the  surprise  of  everybody.  The 
youus  Irishman  smiled  encouragingly,  as  though 
he  had  been  regretting  that  this  pretty  girl  re 
fused  to  talk. 

-Why  are  they  impossible  to  understand?'' 
repeated  the  American  story-teller.  "I  don't 
know.  I'm  sure.  They  are  conundrums,  all  of 
them,  and  I  am  ready  to  give  them  up/' 

"  Isn't  it  because  you  persist  in  approaching 
them  as  though  they  were  strange,  wild  beasts  ?" 
the  young  woman  went  on.  •'•'  You  speak  of  them 
just  as  if  they  were  different  from  us.  But  they 
are  not,  are  they  ?  They  have  their  feelings  just 
like  we  have  :  they  fall  in  love  and  they  get  mar 
ried  and  they  quarrel  and  they  die.  just  like  we 
do.  There  is  not  more  crime  in  the  tenement- 
houses  than  there  is  in  the  rest  of  the  city— not 
if  you  remember  how  many  more  people  live  in 
the  tenement-houses.  There  isn't  less  joy  there, 
or  less  sorrow  either.  There  is  quite  as  much 
happiness.  I  reckon,  and  a  good  deal  more  fun. 
They  are  not  the  lower  animals  ;  and  it  just 
makes  me  mad  all  over  when  I  hear  them  spoken 
of  in  that  way.  They  are  human  beings,  after 


190        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

all— and  if  you  can't  understand  them  it's  be 
cause  you're  not  ready  to  go  to  them  as  your 
equals/7 

"  That's  what  I  say/'  the  Irishman  agreed  ; 
"  we  must  approach  them  on  the  plane  of  hu 
man  sympathy— that's  the  only  way  to  get  them 
to  open  their  hearts." 

:<  Why  should  we  expect  them  to  open  their 
hearts  to  us?"  Miss  Peters  continued.  "We 
don't  open  ours  to  strangers,  do  we  ?" 

"  That's  quite  true,"  admitted  Barry.  "  Some 
times  I  wonder  if  it  isn't  impertinent  we  are 
when  we  thrust  ourselves  into  a  poor  man's  room. 
I  doubt  we  should  like  him  to  thrust  himself 
into  ours." 

"  I  think  that  is  a  most  amusing  suggestion  of 
yours/'  Mrs.  Jimmy  declared.  "  I  shall  look 
forward  with  delight  to  the  day  when  the  Five 
Points  send  missionaries  up  to  Fifth  Avenue." 

"  What  an  absurd  idea  !"  cried  Mrs.  Canton, 
in  disgust. 

"  Come  now/'  the  Irishman  returned,  "  I 
deny  that  the  suggestion  is  mine  ;  but  it  is  not 
so  absurd— really,  it  isn't.  There's  lots  of  things 
they  can  teach  us.  I  don't  know  but  what  we 
have  more  to  learn  from  them  than  they  have 
from  us  — really  I  don't.  Christianity,  now- 
practical  Christianity—'  inasmuch  as  ye  did  it 
to  one  of  the  least  of  these/  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing— well,  there's  more  of  that  among  the 
poor  than  there  is  among  the  rich,  I'm  thinking." 


A    CANDLE    IX    THE    PLATE  191 

"  If  you  want  to  pick  up  picturesque  bits  of 
low  life  in  Xew  York/"  broke  in  De  Ruyter, 
'•'you  must  get  a  chance  to  see  a  candle  in  the 

plate." 

"•A  candle  in  the  plate  ?"  echoed  Barry.    "I've 

never  heard  of  it." 

"  It  sounds  like  the  title  of  a  tale  of  super 
stition  transplanted  from  Europe  and  surviving 
here  in  America,"  said  Mrs.  Jimmy. 

"  It's  not  a  superstition,  it's  only  a  custom," 
De  Ruyter  explained  ;  '''and  whether  it's  a  trans 
planted  survival  or  not  I  can't  say.  You  see 
I've  never  seen  the  thing  myself,  but  I've  been 
told  about  it.  I  hear  that  down  in  the  tenement- 
house  region,  when  a  family  can't  pay  the  rent 
and  the  landlord  puts  their  scant  furniture  out 
on  the  sidewalk,  and  they  don't  know  where  to 
lay  their  heads  that  night,  then  one  of  the  neigh 
bors  takes  a  candle  and  lights  it  and  sticks  it  up 
on  a  plate,  and  takes  his  stand  on  the  sidewalk  ; 
and  this  is  a  sign  to  everybody  that  there  is  a 
family  in  sore  distress,  and  so  the  passers-by  drop 
in  a  penny  or  two  until  there  is  enough  to  pay 
the  arrears  of  rent  and  let  the  poor  mother  and 
children  go  back." 

Mrs.  Jimmy  Suydam  laughed  a  little  bitterly. 
"  That  sort  of  thing  may  be  possible  on  Cherry 
Hill."  she  said,  •'•'but  it  would  never  do  on  Mur 
ray  Hill,  would  it  ?  Just  imagine  how  absurd  a 
broken  millionaire  would  look  standing  at  a  street 
corner  with  a  little  electric  light  on  a  silver  sal- 


192        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

ver,  expecting  the  multi-millionaires  going  by  to 
drop  in  a  check  or  two  to  pay  his  rent  for  him  \" 

"I  thought  I  had  a  quaint  little  silhouette  of 
metropolitan  life  for  you,"  De  Ruyter  respond 
ed,  smiling  back  ;  "but  you  spoil  the  picture  if 
you  guy  it  like  that." 

"  Very  curious  it  is/'  said  Barry — "very  curi 
ous,  indeed.  '  How  far  a  little  candle  throws  its 
beams/  I  don't  think  that  the  custom  was  ex 
ported  from  Ireland  or  from  England — at  least,  I 
do  not  recall  anything  analogous." 

"I've  heard  an  old  Irishwoman  complain  that 
the  law  was  harder  here  on  the  tenant  than  it 
was  in  the  old  country/'  Miss  Peters  asserted  ; 
and  then  she  appended  an  imitation  of  the  old 
Irishwoman's  speech  :  "  '  Sure,  they'd  boycott  the 
landlord  there,  that's  what  they'd  do,  or  they'd 
shoot  the  agent,  maybe  ;  but  here  ye  can't — 
there's  the  police,  bad  cess  to  'em  !' " 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  the  candle  in  the  plate  ?" 
Barry  asked  her,  across  the  table. 

"  Never,"  she  answered. 

"  But  you  have  heard  of  it  ?"  De  Ruyter  in 
quired. 

"  Never  before  to-night,"  was  her  reply. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  don't  believe 
that  there  is  any  such  custom  ?"  Mrs.  Jimmy 
asked.  "Thus  all  our  illusions  are  shattered 
one  by  one." 

"  Of  course,  I  don't  know,"  the  girl  respond 
ed  ;  "I  haven't  been  working  down  there  very 


A    CAXDLE    IX   THE    PLATE  193 

long — only  since  last  February.  But  it  sounds 
like  it  was  a  fake,  as  we  used  to  say  in  the  news 
paper  office  when  I  was  a  reporter.'7 

Mrs.  Jimmy  Suydam  had  never  met  Miss 
Peters  before,  and  now  she  examined  the  girl 
curiously,  wondering  what  sort  of  being  a  wom 
an  was  who  had  been  a  reporter  and  was  now 
living  among  the  poor,  and  who  happened  also 
to  be  dining  at  Mrs.  Canton's. 

The  hostess  was  just  then  explaining  to  Mr. 
Suydam  in  a  whisper  that  Miss  Peters  was  a 
Southern  girl  of  excellent  family,  who  used  to 
write  those  "  Polly  Perkins  "  articles  for  the  Dial 
on  Sunday,  but  who  had  given  it  up  last  winter, 
and  now  acted  as  her  secretary. 

'•'A  fake?"  repeated  the  Irishman,  gleefully ; 
"that's  one  of  your  Americanisms,  isn't  it?  I 
must  remember  that.  A  fake  —  what  does  it 
mean  exactly  ?" 

"It  means  the  thing  that  is  not,'7  De  Euyter 
explained,  with  a  trace  of  acerbity  in  his  voice. 
"  Miss  Peters  disbelieves  in  the  existence  of  the 
candle  in  the  plate,  and  she  was  too  polite  to 
call  my  story  a  lie.  so  she  said  it  was  a  fake." 

"  Oh.  Mr.  De  Ruyteiyv  was  her  retort,  "  and 
you  used  to  be  a  newspaper  man  yourself  once  I" 

••Your  newspapers,  now.'"  Barry  broke  in,  "  I 
confess  they  puzzle  me.  They  are  so  clever,  you 
know,  and  so  up-to-date,  and  all  that ;  but  you 
never  know  what  to  believe  in  them,  do  you  ? 
And  then  they  do  such  dreadful  things." 


194        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

"  I  fear  you  will  find  few  Americans  prepared 
to  defend  our  newspapers,"  said  the  story-teller, 
always  a  little  ashamed  that  he  had  once  been,  a 
reporter.  "But  what  sort  of  a  dreadful  thing 
have  you  in  mind  just  now?" 

"  Things  quite  inconceivable,  you  know/'  the 
Irishman  explained  ;  "  a  thing  like  this,  for  exam 
ple.  A  year  or  two  ago  a  man  gave  me  a  copy 
of  one  of  your  New  York  papers — the  Dial,  I 
think  it  was.  I  read  it  with  great  interest,  as  one 
would  the  writing  of  some  strange  tribe  of  sav 
ages,  don't  you  know  ?  It  was  so  very  extraor 
dinary." 

As  the  guest  made  this  plain  statement,  little 
Miss  Peters  happened  to  catch  the  eye  of  the 
handsome  Mrs.  Jimmy  Suydam,  and  they  ex 
changed  an  imperceptible  smile. 

"What  shocked  me  the  most,"  Barry  contin 
ued,  "  was  a  long  article  from  some  special  com 
missioner,  with  headings  in  huge  letters — 

"  Scare  -  heads  they  call  them,"  explained  De 
Ruyter. 

"  Scare  -  heads  ?"  repeated  the  Irishman. 
"That's  the  very  name  for  them.  Scare-heads 
—delicious  !  This  article,  then,  had  scare-heads 
galore,  and  it  described  how  a  suicide  had  been 
identified.  It  seems  some  poor  girl  of  the  work 
ing-class  had  got  into  trouble,  and  sooner  than 
bring  disgrace  on  her  family  she  had  jumped 
into  the  river  here  —  Hudson's  River,  isn't  it  ? 
She  had  carefully  arranged  so  that  there  was  110 


A    CAXDLE    IX    THE    PLATE  195 

clew  by  which  she  could  be  traced.  But  she 
had  not  counted  on  the  devilish  ingenuity  of  the 
special  commissioner,  a  woman,  too — at  least  I 
suppose  it  was  a  woman,  since  the  thing  was 
signed  *  Polly  Perkins." 

Mrs.  Jimmy  saw  the  blood  rise  in  the  cheeks 
of  Miss  Peters,  until  the  little  Southern  girl  was 
as  red  as  any  of  the  maple-leaves  that  decked  the 
cloth  between  the  two  women.  She  noticed  that 
Rupert  De  Ruyter  was  staring  into  his  plate  with 
ill-concealed  embarrassment,  and  that  Mrs.  Can 
ton  seemed  a  little  uneasy. 

''•'It  seems  that  the  poor  creature's  body  was 
sent  to  the  Morgue,"  Barry  continued,  ••'and  no 
one  claimed  it,  so  it  was  buried  at  the  cost  of  the 
county.  And  there's  where  the  diabolical  cun 
ning  of  this  reporter  was  exercised.  She  guessed 
that  the  girl's  family  would  want  to  see  the  body 
laid  away  in  holy  ground,  and  so  she  went  to  the 
burying.  And  she  hit  it.  for  there  were  two 
women  there  in  deep  black,  the  mother  of  the 
poor  wretch  and  the  sister,  not  afraid  to  show 
their  bitter  grief  when  they  thought  they  were 
unknown  and  unwatched.  The  spy  tracked  them 
to  their  house  and  she  found  out  their  names, 
and  she  put  the  whole  story  in  the  paper  !  I  sup 
pose  it  broke  the  mother's  heart,  and  the  sister's, 
to  see  the  dead  girl's  shame  brought  home  to  her 
and  to  them  when  they  thought  it  was  buried  in 
the  grave  with  her  body.  I  don't  deny  that  the 
female  detective  showed  a  deal  of  skill ;  but  what 


196  OUTLINES   IN    LOCAL   COLOR 

a  pitiful  thing  !  To  risk  breaking  two  loving 
hearts — and  for  what  purpose  ?" 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  when  the  Irish 
man  asked  this  unanswerable  question.  Then 
Miss  Peters  raised  her  head  and  looked  him  in 
the  eye. 

"  That  was  what  is  called  a  '  beat.'  No  other 
paper  had  the  news,"  she  said  ;  "  and  the  re 
porter  who  wrote  that  story  got  a  raise  of  five 
dollars  a  week." 

"  Faith,  she  deserved  it/'  Barry  returned.  "It 
was  blood-money  she  was  taking,  I'm  thinking." 

"  That's  what  I  think  now/''  Miss  Peters  re 
plied.  "  I  wish  I  had  thought  so  then.  I  wrote 
that  article,  and  that  is  one  reason  why  I  am  liv 
ing  down  there  among  the  poor,  to  try  and  make 
it  up  to  them.  Of  course,  I  can't  undo  the  wrong 
I  did  ;  but  I  mean  to  do  my  best." 

Then  there  was  another  silence,  broken  by  Mrs. 
Jimmy,  who  turned  to  Mrs.  Canton  and  asked  if 
she  was  going  to  take  a  box  at  the  horse-show. 

When  the  ladies  left  the  dining-room  Barry 
took  the  chair  by  the  side  of  Suydarn. 

"What's  the  name  of  that  pretty  little  girl  ?" 
he  asked.  "  Peters,  isn't  it  ?  I  say,  it  was  aw 
fully  plucky  of  her  to  tell  us  that  she  was  <  Polly 
Perkins,'  wasn't  it,  now  ?  I  like  her  ;  she's  a 
trump  !  And  that  fair  hair  of  hers  is  very  fetch 
ing,  isn't  it  ?" 

(1897) 


0  ®  •  ®  •  ®  •  ®  •  *  •  ©  ft  ©  (Hi  ®  in'  6  in  8  HI  9  ill  8  in. 


;. 


C/Joen    and     \  \  omen 
and 


iERRYMOUXT  MOBTOX  walked 
briskly  down  Madison  Avenue  that 
warm  November  evening,  when  there 
was  never  a  foretaste  of  winter  in  the 
intermittent  breezes  that  blew  gen 
tly  across  the  city  from  river  to  river ;  and  as  he 
crossed  the  side  streets  one  after  another  he  saw 
the  full  moon  in  the  east,  low  and  large  and  mel 
low.  On  the  brow  of  Murray  Hill  he  checked  his 
pace  for  a  moment  in  frank  enjoyment  of  the  vista 
before  him,  differing  in  so  many  ways  from  the 
scenes  which  met  his  vision  in  the  little  college 
town  of  Xew  England  where  he  earned  his  liv 
ing,  and  where  he  had  spent  the  most  of  his  life. 
The  glow  of  the  great  town  filled  the  air,  and  the 
roar  of  the  city  arose  all  about  him.  It  seemed 
to  him  almost  as  though  he  could  feel  the  heart 
of  the  metropolis  throbbing  before  him.  He 
caught  himself  wondering  again  whether  he  had 
not  erred  in  accepting  the  professorship  he  had 
been  so  glad  to  get  when  he  came  back  from  Ger 
many,  and  whether  his  life  would  not  have  been 
fuller  and  far  richer  had  he  come  to  Xew  York, 
as  once  he  thought  of  doing,  and  had  he  reso 
lutely  struck  out  for  himself  in  the  welter  and 
chaos  of  the  commercial  capital  of  the  country. 


200        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

Down  at  the  foot  of  the  slope  a  cluster  of 
electric  lights  spelled  out  the  name  of  a  trivial 
extravaganza  then  nearing  its  hundredth  per 
formance  in  the  lovely  Garden  Theatre,  and 
the  avenue  hereabouts  had  a  strange,  unnatur 
al  brilliance.  High  up  in  the  pure  dark  blue 
the  beautiful  tower  rose  in  air,  its  grace  made 
visible  by  many  lights  of  its  own.  The  ave 
nue  was  clogged  with  carriages,  and  the  arcade 
before  the  theatre  and  under  the  tower  was 
thick  with  men  who  carried  under  their  arms 
folded  card-board  plans  of  the  great  amphithea 
tre,  and  who  vociferously  proffered  tickets  for 
the  horse-show.  So  far  remote  from  the  current 
of  fashion  was  Merrymount  Morton  that  he  had 
not  been  aware  that  the  horse  -  show  week  was 
about  to  come  to  a  glorious  end.  But  he  was 
familiar  enough  with  New  York  to  know  that 
the  horse  -  show  was  also  an  exhibition  of  men 
and  women,  and  that  the  human  entries  were 
quite  as  important  as  the  equine,  and  rather 
more  interesting.  He  had  never  happened  to 
be  in  the  city  at  this  season  of  the  year  ;  and  al 
though  he  had  intended  to  spend  the  evening  at 
the  College  Club,  he  seized  the  occasion  to  see  a 
metropolitan  spectacle  which  chanced  to  be  novel 
to  him. 

From  one  of  the  shouting  and  insistent  vend 
ers  he  bought  a  ticket,  and  he  walked  through 
the  broad  entrance-hall,  the  floor  of  which  slant 
ed  upwards.  He  passed  the  door  of  a  restaurant 


MEN    AXD    WOMEX    AND    HORSES  201 

on  his  right,  and  he  glanced  down  a  staircase 
which  led  to  the  semi-subterranean  stalls  where 
the  horses  were  tethered.  A  pungent,  acrid, 
stable  odor  filled  his  nostrils.  Then  he  found 
himself  inside  the  immense  amphitheatre,  under 
the  skeleton  ribs  of  its  roof  picked  out  with  long 
lines  of  tiny  electric  bulbs.  Morton  had  a  first 
impression  of  glittering  hugeness,  and  a  second 
of  restless  bustle.  From  a  gallery  behind  him 
there  came  the  blare  and  crash  of  a  brass  band 
playing  an  Oriental  march  ;  but  eyen  this  did 
not  drown  the  buzz  and  murmur  of  many  thou 
sand  yoices.  The  yast  building  seemed  to  Mor 
ton  to  be  filled  with  men  and  women,  all  of  them 
talking  and  many  of  them  in  motion.  He  found 
himself  swept  along  slowly  in  the  dense  crowd 
that  circled  steadily  around  the  high  fence  which 
guarded  the  arena  wherein  the  horses  were  ex- 

o 

hibited.  This  crowd  was  too  compact  for  him 
to  approach  the  railing,  and  he  could  not  dis- 
coyer  for  himself  whether  or  not  anything  was 
to  be  seen. 

A  thin  line  of  more  or  less  horsy  fellows  fringed 
the  fence,  and  seemed  to  be  interested  in  what 
was  going  on.  The  most  of  the  men  and  women 
who  filled  the  broad  promenade  between  the  rail 
ing  and  the  long  tier  of  private  boxes  paid  little 
or  no  attention  to  the  arena  ;  they  gave  them 
selves  up  to  staring  at  the  very  gayly  dressed 
ladies  in  the  boxes.  It  struck  the  Xew  England 
college  professor  that  the  most  of  those  present 


202        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

made  no  pretence  of  caring  for  the  horses,  as 
though  horses  could  be  seen  any  day  ;  while  they 
frankly  devoted  themselves  to  gazing  at  the  peo 
ple  of  fashion  penned  side  by  side  in  the  boxes, 
and  not  often  placing  themselves  so  plainly  on 
exhibition.  Some  of  those  who  were  playing 
their  parts  on  this  narrow  and  elevated  stage 
had  the  self -consciousness  of  the  amateur,  and 
some  had  the  ease  that  comes  of  long  practice. 
These  latter  looked  as  though  they  were  accus 
tomed  to  be  stared  at,  as  though  they  expected 
it  of  right,  as  though  they  were  there  on  purpose 
to  be  seen.  They  seemed  to  know  one  another  ; 
and  it  struck  Morton  that  they  were  apparently 
all  members  of  a  secret  fraternity  of  fashion, 
with  their  own  signs  and  passwords  and  their 
own  system  of  private  grips  ;  and  they  wholly 
ignored  the  people  who  had  not  been  initiated 
and  who  were  not  members  of  their  society. 
They  nodded  and  smiled  brightly  to  belated 
arrivals  of  their  own  set.  They  kept  up  a  con 
tinual  chatter  among  themselves,  the  women 
leaning  across  to  talk  to  acquaintances  in  the 
adjoining  compartments,  and  the  men  paying 
visits  to  the  boxes  of  their  friends.  Now  and 
again  some  one  in  a  box  would  recognize  some 
one  in  the  circling  throng  below  ;  but  for  the 
most  part  there  was  no  communication  between 
the  two  classes. 

To  Morton  the  spectacle  had  the  attraction  of 
novelty  ;  it  was  so  novel,  indeed,  that  he  did  not 


EXPLANATIONS 


MEX    AXD    WOMEX    AND    HORSES  203 

quite  know  what  to  make  of  it.  It  disconcerted 
him  not  a  little  to  see  people,  of  position  presum 
ably,  and  obviously  of  wealth,  willing  thus  to 
show  themselves  off,  dressed,  many  of  them,  as 
though  with  special  intent  to  attract  attention. 
As  a  student  of  sociology,  he  found  this  inspec 
tion  of  Society  —  in  the  narrowest  sense  of  the 
word  —  almost  as  instructive  as  it  was  interest 
ing.  At  times  the  vulgarity  of  the  whole  thing 
shocked  him,  more  especially  once  when  he  could 
not  but  hear  the  loud  voices  of  one  over-dressed 
group  of  women,  who  were  discussing  the  char 
acteristics  of  one  '"•'  Willie." 

•'He's  a  wretched  little  beast  !''  cried  one  of 
these  ladies. 

'•You  mustn't  say  that,''  rejoined  another,  a 
tall  woman  with  gray  hair  ;  **'  you  know  he's  my 
corespondent."  And  at  this  stroke  of  wit  the 
rest  of  the  party  laughed  repeatedly. 

But  few  of  those  on  exhibition  were  as  com 
mon  as  the  members  of  this  group.  Indeed, 
Morton  was  struck  with  the  fact  that  the  most 
of  the  men  and  women  who  were  being  stared 
out  of  countenance  were  apparently  people  of 
breeding,  and  he  wondered  that  they  were  will 
ing  to  place  themselves  in  what  seemed  to  him 
so  false  a  position.  Many  of  the  girls,  for  exam 
ple,  who  wore  striking  costumes  and  extravagant 
hats,  were  themselves  refined  in  face  and  retiring 
in  bearing  ;  they  were  stylish,  no  doubt,  but  they 
were  well  bred  also.  It  seemed  to  Morton  that 


204        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

style  was  perhaps  the  chief  characteristic  of  these 
New  York  girls — style  rather  than  beauty. 

The  average  of  good  looks  was  high,  and  yet, 
as  it  happened,  he  was  able  to  walk  half  around 
the  huge  building  without  seeing  half  a  dozen 
women  whom  he  was  prepared  to  declare  hand 
some.  The  girls  appeared  to  be  strong,  healthy, 
lively,  quick  -  witted,  and  charming,  but  rarely 
beautiful.  They  seemed  to  him,  moreover,  to  be 
emphatically  superior  to  the  men  who  accom 
panied  them,  superior  not  only  in  looks,  but  in 
manners  and  intelligence. 

Morton  noted,  to  his  surprise,  that  some  of 
these  men  were  quite  as  conscious  of  their  clothes 
as  any  of  the  women  were  ;  and  he  caught  also 
more  than  one  remark  showing  that  the  appreci 
ation  of  the  women's  clothes  was  not  confined  to 
the  women,  themselves. 

As  he  was  nearing  the  Fourth  Avenue  end  of 
the  edifice  he  saw  in  a  box  just  above  him — for 
he  found  himself  staring  like  the  rest — a  lady 
of  striking  beauty,  with  a  look  of  sadness  on  her 
face,  that  gave  place  to  a  factitious  smile  when 
she  spoke  to  one  or  another  of  the  three  or  four 
young  men  who  stood  on  the  steps  at  the  side  of 
her  chair.  The  face  interested  Morton,  and  it  was 
recognized  by  two  young  men  just  behind  him. 

"  Hello  !"  said  one  of  them,  "  there's  Mrs. 
Cyrus  Poole.  Smart  gown,  hasn't  she  ?" 

"Always  has,"  answered  the  other.  "Best- 
groomed  woman  in  New  York." 


MEX    AXD    AVOMEX    AXD    HORSES  205 

"She  is  pretty  well  turned  out  generally,  for 
a  fact,"  the  first  speaker  responded.  "'But  Cy 
rus  Poole's  made  money  enough  out  of  the  widow 
and  the  orphan  this  summer  to  pay  for  all  the 
gowns  his  wife  can  wear  this  winter,  at  any  rate." 

It  was  only  when  Merrymount  Morton  had 
threaded  his  way  half  around  the  horse-show  that 
he  first  saw  a  horse  there.  As  he  came  to  the 
Fourth  Avenue  end  the  crowd  hefore  him  fell 
away,  and  a  gate  in  the  railing  swung  back 
across  the  promenade,  while  grooms  led  out  of 
the  arena  five  or  six  beautiful  stallions.  The 
Xew  England  college  professor  had  a  healthy  lik 
ing  for  a  fine  horse,  and  his  eyes  followed  these 
superb  creatures  till  they  were  out  of  sight. 
Then  in  the  clear  space  at  the  far  end  of  the 
building  he  saw  three  coaches,  one  of  them  al 
ready  equipped  with  its  four-in-hand,  while  the 
horses  were  being  harnessed  to  the  others. 

He  stood  there  for  a  minute  or  two  looking  at 
them  with  interest.  Then  he  turned  his  back, 
and  once  more  began  circling  about  the  arena  in 
the  thick  of  the  crowd,  with  no  chance  of  seeing 
a  horse  again  until  he  could  get  to  the  seat  to 
which  his  ticket  entitled  him.  He  took  out  the 
bit  of  pasteboard  and  examined  it  again,  and  he 
saw  that  his  place  was  very  near  the  entrance, 
only  he  had  gone  to  the  right  when  he  came  in 
instead  of  to  the  left.  By  this  time  the  men  and 
women  on  exhibition  in  the  boxes  had  begun  to 
lose  the  attraction  of  novelty  :  and  Morton  walked 


206        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

on  as  swiftly  as  lie  could  make  his  way  through 
the  crowd,  wishing  to  get  his  seat  in  time  to  see 
the  competition  of  the  coaches. 

He  had  come  almost  to  the  foot  of  the  little 
flight  of  steps  by  which  lie  could  reach  his  seat 
when  he  happened  to  look  up,  and  he  caught 
sight  of  a  familiar  face.  In  a  box  only  a  score 
of  feet  before  him  there  sat  a  lady  about  whose 
high-bred  beauty  there  could  hardly  be  two  opin 
ions.  She  was  probably  nearly  thirty  years  old, 
but  she  looked  fresher  than  either  of  the  girls  by 
her  side.  She  wore  a  costume  combining  stud 
ied  simplicity  and  marked  individuality  ;  and  yet 
no  one  who  saw  her  took  thought  of  her  attire, 
for  her  beauty  subdued  all  things,  and  made  any 
adornment  she  might  adopt  seem  as  though  it 
were  necessary  and  inevitable. 

There  was  a  suggestion  of  stiffness  in  her  car 
riage,  and  perhaps  a  hint  of  haughtiness ;  but 
when  she  smiled  she  was  as  charming  as  she  was 
handsome. 

As  his  eyes  first  fell  upon  her  Morton's  heart 
gave  a  sudden  thump,  and  then  beat  swiftly  for 
a  minute  or  two.  Although  he  had  not  seen  her 
for  nearly  ten  years,  he  recognized  her  instantly. 
She  had  changed  but  little  since  they  had  met 
for  the  last  time.  He  would  have  known  her 
anywhere  and  at  once. 

And  if  he  had  been  in  any  doubt  as  to  her 
identity,  it  would  have  been  dispelled  by  the 
conversation  of  the  two  young  men  who  had 


BETWEEN"    TWO    EVENTS 


208        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

He  wondered  if  he  had  courage  to  go  up  and 
speak  to  her.  He  remembered  her  so  sharply, 
he  recognized  every  turn  of  her  head  and  every 
dainty  gesture  of  her  hands,  he  recalled  so  dis 
tinctly  every  word  of  their  conversation  the  last 
time  they  met  that  it  did  not  seem  possible  to 
him  that  she  might  have  forgotten  him.  And 
yet  it  was  not  impossible.  Why  should  she  re 
member  what  he  could  not  forget  ? 

While  he  was  hesitating,  the  party  in  her  box 
broke  up.  One  of  the  young  ladies  who  were  sit 
ting  with  her  arose  and  came  down  the  steps,  es 
corted  by  two  young  men,  and  as  they  passed 
Morton  he  caught  from  their  conversation  that 
they  were  going  to  the  stables  below  to  see  a  cer 
tain  famous  horse  in  his  stall.  The  other  young 
lady  had  changed  her  seat  to  the  back  of  the 
box,  where  she  was  deep  in  conversation  with  a 
young  man  who  had  taken  the  chair  beside  hers. 
Mrs.  Suydam  was  left  alone  in  the  front  of  the 
box. 

She  sat  there  apparently  not  bored  with  her 
own  society,  and  obviously  indifferent  to  the 
frank  staring  of  the  men  and  women  who  passed 
along  the  promenade  a  few  feet  below  her.  She 
sat  there  calm  in  her  cold  beauty,  unmoved  and 
uninterested,  almost  as  though  her  thoughts  were 
far  away. 

Morton  made  up  his  mind,  and  pressed  forward 
again. 

When  he  was  within  a  yard  or  two  of  the  steps 


MEX    AXI)    WOMEX    AXD    HORSES  209 

leading  to  her  box  she  happened  to  glance  down,, 
and  she  caught  his  eye  fixed  upon  hers.  She  was 
about  to  glance  away,  when  she  looked  again,  and 
then  a  smile  of  recognition  lighted  her  face,  fol 
lowed  by  the  faintest  of  blushes. 

She  bowed  as  Morton  raised  his  hat,  and  she 
held  out  her  hand  cordially  when  he  climbed  the 
steps  to  her  box. 

"I  hardly  dared  to  hope  that  you  would  re 
member  me,  Mrs.  Suydam,"  he  said,  as  he  shook 
hands  gently.  •'•'  It  is  so  long  since  I  saw  you  last.'" 

"  How  could  you  think  I  should  ever  forget  the 
pleasant  month  I  spent  in  your  mother's  house  ?" 
she  returned.  "We  do  not  have  so  many  pleas 
ant  months  in  life,  do  we.  that  we  can  afford  to 
let  any  one  of  them  slip  out  of  memory?  You 
haven't  forgotten  me.  have  you  ?  Well,  then,  why 
should  I  forget  you  and  your  mother  and  the 
lovely  little  college  town  ?" 

"That  month  I  can't  forget,"'  he  responded; 
"but  it  was  a  long  while  ago.  and  my  existence 
is  uneventful  always,  while  yours  is  full — and 
then  so  many  things  have  happened  since.'' 

"  Yes,"  she  admitted,  "so  many  things  have 
happened.  I'm  married,  for  one  thing.  But  that 
hasn't  made  me  forget  how  kind  you  all  were  to 
me.  Can't  you  sit  down  here  for  a  few  minutes 
and  give  me  all  the  news  of  the  college  and  the 
town  ?" 

"  I  shall  be  only  too  glad,"  he  said,  taking  the 
chair  by  her  side.  "  Where  shall  I  begin  ?" 

14 


310        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

"  Tell  me  about  yourself/'  she  commanded. 

"  That  won't  take  me  long/'  he  returned. 
6 (  Very  little  has  happened  to  me.  I  was  going 
to  Germany — perhaps  you  remember — that  fall, 
after  you  left  us.  Well,  I  went,  and  I  stayed  two 
years,  and  I  took  my  Ph.D.  there,  and  I  came 
back  to  the  old  college,  and  they  gave  me  a  pro 
fessorship — and  that's  all." 

"  That's  enough,  I  think,"  she  answered,  look 
ing  at  him  frankly  witli  her  dark  eyes.  "You 
have  your  work  to  do,  and  you  do  it.  I  don't 
believe  there  is  anything  better  in  life  than  to 
be  sure  what  you  ought  to  work  at  and  to  be 
able  to  work  at  it." 

"I  suppose  you  are  right,"  Morton  acknowl 
edged.  "  I  find  hard  labor  is  often  the  best  fun, 
after  all.  But  I  can  get  solid  enjoyment  out  of 
loafing,  too.  I  don't  recall  that  we  worked  very 
steadily  that  month  that  you  were  with  us,  and 
we  certainly  had  a  very  good  time.  At  least  I 
did  !" 

"And  so  did  I,"  she  declared,  unbending  a 
little,  and  with  a  laugh  of  pleasant  recollection. 
"  I  enjoyed  every  minute  of  my  visit.  I  wish  I 
could  have  such  good  times  now  !" 

"Don't  you  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Not  often,"  she  answered.    "  Perhaps  never." 

"You  surprise  me/'  he  replied.  "  I  supposed 
you  were  being  entertained  by  day  and  by  night, 
week  in  and  week  out,  from  one  year's  end  to 
another." 


MEX    AXD    WOMEN    AND    HORSES  211 

"  So  we  are/'  she  explained.  "  But  being  en 
tertained  isn't  always  being  interested,  is  it  ?" 

"That's  the  theory,  isn't  it  ?"he  rejoined. 

"It  may  be  the  theory,"  she  confessed,  "but 
I'm  sure  it  isn't  the  practice." 

"'I  know  that  little  college  town  of  ours  is  re 
mote  from  the  path  of  progress,"  he  went  on. 
"  but  sometimes  we  behold  those  messengers  of 
civilization,  the  Xew  York  Sunday  newspapers. 
And  whenever  I  do  get  one  I  am  certain  to  see 
that  you  have  been  to  a  dinner-dance  here,  to  a 
bal  poudrk  there.  I  should  judge  that  you  lived 
in  an  endless  merry-go-round  of  gayety." 

She  smiled  again,  and  there  was  no  sadness 
in  her  smile,  only  a  vague,  detached  weariness. 
"  Dinner-dances  are  the  fashion  just  now,"  she 
said  :  "  and  if  there  is  anything  more  absurd  than 
the  fashion  it's  to  waste  one's  strength  struggling 
against  it." 

"  That  is  very  end-of-the-century  philosophy," 
he  commented. 

•'•'It's  philosophical  not  to  want  to  be  left  out 
of  things,  isn't  it  ?"  she  inquired.  "  Even  if  one 
doesn't  care  to  go,  one  doesn't  like  not  to  be 
asked,  and  so  one  goes  often  when  one  would 
rather  stay  at  home." 

"I  should  think  that  if  many  people  had  mo 
tives  like  that,  your  parties  here  in  Xew  York 
might  be  rather  dull,"  he  retorted,  with  a  little 
laugh. 

"  They  are  dull,"  she  returned,  calmly.  "  Some- 


212        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

times  they  are  very  dull.  But,  of  course,  it 
doesn't  do  not  to  go." 

"  I  suppose  not,"  he  agreed. 

"  But  I  find  myself  wondering  sometimes,"  she 
continued,  "  where  all  the  dull  people  in  society 
were  dug  up.  Sometimes  after  a  long  month  of 
dinners  I  get  desperate  and  almost  wish  I  could 
renounce  the  world.  Why,  at  the  end  of  last 
winter  I  told  my  husband  that  we  had  not  spent 
a  single  evening  home  since  we  got  back  from 
Florida,  and  we  hadn't  had  a  single  pleasant 
evening,  not  one.  He  didn't  think  it  was  as  bad 
as  that,  and  perhaps  it  wasn't  for  him  either,  for 
I  don't  believe  the  women  are  as  stupid  as  the 
men.  Of  course  now  and  then  there  was  a  din 
ner  I  thought  I  should  enjoy,  but  I  never  did. 
I'd  see  the  clever  man  I'd  have  liked  to  talk  to  ; 
I'd  see  him  far  down  at  the  other  end  of  the 
table,  and  that  was  all  I  did  see  of  him.  Some 
dreary  old  man  would  take  me  in,  and  then  after 
dinner  I'd  have  perhaps  two  or  three  little  boys 
come  up  and  try  to  pay  compliments,  and  suc 
ceed  in  keeping  away  the  men  who  might  pos 
sibly  have  had  something  to  say." 

"  And  yet  yours  is  the  set  that  so  many  peo 
ple  seem  to  be  trying  so  hard  to  enter,"  he  sug 
gested  ;  "  that  is,  if  I  understand  aright  what  I 
read  in  New  York  novels." 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "I  suppose  that's  the 
chief  satisfaction  we  have  —  we  know  we  are 
envied  by  the  people  who  want  to  visit  us,  and 


MEX    AXD    WOMEN    AXD    HORSES  213 

to  have  us  visit  them.  I  suppose  the  desire  to  get 
into  Society  fills  the  emptiness  in  many  a  woman's 
life  :  it  gives  her  something  to  live  for." 

"  They  don't  seem  to  have  much  of  the  stern 
joy  that  foemen  feel/'  Morton  commented. 
"They  take  life  desperately  hard.  Over  there 
in  the  other  corner  I  saw  a  handsome  woman, 
and  I  overheard  a  man  call  her  by  name — she's 
the  wife  of  Cyrus  Poole,  the  Wall  Street  opera 
tor.  And  when  I  saw  the  unsatisfied  aspiration 
in  her  face.  I  wondered  whether  she  was  one  of 
those  social  stragglers  I  had  read  about." 

•'•'  Mrs.  Poole  ?"  echoed  Mrs.  Suydam.  indif 
ferently.  "I  don't  know  her  :  I've  met  her,  of 
course — one  meets  everybody — but  I  don't  know 
her.  She  is  good-looking,  and  she  is  in  the  thick 
of  the  social  struggle.  Upward  and  outward  is  her 
motto— Excelsior!  They  used  to  say  that  all  last 
winter  you  could  positively  hear  her  climb.  But 
then  they  have  said  that  of  so  many  people  !  She 
is  clever,  they  say.  and  she  entertains  lavishly,  so 
I  shouldn't  wonder  if  she  succeeded  sooner  or 
later  :  and  then  she  will  be  so  disappointed/" 

Morton  smiled.  "  From  your  account,*''  he  said, 
'•'the  social  struggle  is  rather  a  tragedy  than  a 
comedy  ;  and  I  confess  it  has  hitherto  struck  me 
as  not  without  a  suggestion  of  farce." 

••It  is  absurd,  isn't  it?"  she  returned,  smil 
ing  back.  -'-And  are  we  not  a  very  snobbish 
lot  ?  Jimmy  declares  that  society  in  Xew  York 
is  almost  as  snobbish  as  it  is  in  London  even." 


214  OUTLINES   IN    LOCAL   COLOR 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  and  then  Mor 
ton  asked,  a  little  stiffly,  "  How  is  Mr.  Suydam  ? 
You  know  I  have  never  had  the  pleasure  of  meet 
ing  him." 

"  Haven't  you  ?"  Mrs.  Suydam  responded. 
"  You  can  see  him  soon.  He's  to  drive  George 
Western's  coach.  There  they  come  now  !" 

A  trumpet  sounded  ;  a  gate  in  the  railing  at 
the  Fourth  Avenue  end  of  the  building  was 
opened  ;  and  a  coach  was  driven  into  the  arena. 
A  very  stout  man  sat  on  the  box  alone. 

Mrs.  Suydam  raised  her  long -handled  eye 
glass  and  looked  at  the  approaching  coachman. 

"  Oh,  that's  not  Jimmy,"  she  said,  quickly  ; 
"  of  course  not.  That's  the  man  they  call  The 
Adipose  Deposit." 

The  trumpet  sounded  again,  and  a  second 
coach  was  turned  into  the  arena.  The  four 
horses  were  beautifully  matched  bays.  The 
driver  was  a  tall,  thin,  youngish  man,  who  sat 
impassible  on  the  box,  and  gave  no  sign  of  an 
noyance  when  a  wheel  of  the  vehicle  rasped  the 
gate-post. 

"  That's  Mr.  Suydam,"  said  the  lady  to  whom 
Morton  was  talking,  as  the  bays  trotted  briskly 
past  them,  the  man  on  the  box  holding  himself 
rigidly  and  handling  the  ribbons  skilfully. 

"He  is  quite  a  professional,"  Morton  re 
marked. 

"Isn't  he?"  Mrs.  Suydam  replied.  "You 
know  he  drove  the  Brighton  coach  out  of  Lon- 


MEN    AND    WOMEN    AND    HORSES  215 

don  for  three  years.  He  really  does  it  very  well, 
they  all  say.  I've  told  him  that  if  we  ever  lost  our 
money  he  would  make  a  very  superior  coachman." 

"Those  bays  go  together  admirably,"  the  col 
lege  professor  declared,  "and  Mr.  Suydam  han 
dles  them  superbly.  But  how  pitiful  it  is  to  see 
their  tails  docked  !" 

"  Oh,  they  do  that  in  England,"  she  explained, 
"so  it's  fashionable.     But  it  is  ugly,  isn't  it? 
Do  you  remember  what  a  lovely  long  tail  that 
Kentucky  mare  had,  the  one  I  rode  that  day- 
Then  Mrs.  Suydam  paused  suddenly. 

"Yes,"  answered  Morton,  not  looking  at  her, 
"I  remember  it." 

Mrs.  Suydam  conquered  her  slight  embarrass 
ment  and  gave  a  light  little  laugh. 

"How  rude  I  have  been  !"  she  said.  "'Here 
I've  been  talking  about  myself  and  about  my 
husband,  and  I  haven't  asked  about  you.  Are 
you  married  yet  ?" 

"Xo,"  he  answered,  and  now  he  looked  at 
her,  and  she  blushed  again  ;  "  and  I  am  not  like 
ly  ever  to  marry.  I  think.  There  was  only  one 
woman  in  the  world  for  me,  and  I  told  her  so, 
but  she  didn't  care  for  me  at  all,  and  she  told  me 
50  —  and  then  she  touched  up  that  Kentucky 
mare  and  rode  away  with  my  heart  hanging  at 
her  saddle-bow.v' 

"'You  can  find  a  better  woman  than  she  is," 
was  her  response  ;  "a  woman  who  will  make  you 
a  better  wife  than  she  would  ever  have  done." 


216        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

Before  Morton  could  reply  to  this,  the  girl  and 
the  two  young  men  who  had  been  in  the  box  at 
first  returned  from  their  visit  to  the  stables.  The 
trumpet  sounded  again,  and  the  judges  made  the 
drivers  of  the  four  coaches — for  two  more  had 
entered  after  Mr.  Suydam's — repeat  their  evolu 
tions  around  the  arena.  And  then,  after  pro 
tracted  consultation  together,  the  awards  were 
made,  and  grooms  ran  to  attach  rosettes  to  the 
leaders  of  the  team  driven  by  the  stout  gentleman, 
who  took  the  first  prize,  and  then  to  the  leaders 
of  the  team  driven  by  Suydam,  who  took  the  sec 
ond  prize.  The  numbers  of  the  winning  coaches 
were  displayed  on  the  wide  sign-boards  at  each 
end  of  the  hall.  The  coaches  were  driven  around 
again,  and  then  out.  The  trumpets  were  silent 
for  a  while  :  and  the  brass  band  crashed  forth 
again. 

"Jimmy  won't  like  not  getting  the  first  prize, 
will  he  ?"  asked  the  girl  who  had  just  returned 
to  the  box. 

"I  don't  think  it  will  worry  him/'  answered 
his  wife,  with  a  return  of  her  haughty  manner. 

She  had  not  introduced  Morton  to  any  of  the 
others  in  the  box. 

In  the  presence  of  so  many  it  was  impossible 
to  resume  their  conversation  on  the  old  friendly 
basis.  It  seemed  to  Morton  that  since  the  girl 
and  the  young  men  had  come  back  there  was  a 
difference  in  Mrs.  Suydarn's  manner  towards 
him  ;  he  could  not  define  it  to  himself,  but  he 


M.EX    AND    WOMEN    AXD    HORSES  217 

felt  it.  Perhaps  she  was  conscious  of  this  her 
self. 

When  he  made  a  movement  preparatory  to 
going,  she  said  :  "Must  you  go  ?  I  wanted  you 
to  meet  my  husband.  Can't  you  drop  in  and 
lunch  with  us  to-morrow  ?'' 

Morton  thanked  her  and  regretted  that  he 
might  have  to  take  a  midnight  .train,  and  ex 
pressed  his  pleasure  at  having  met  her  again. 
Then  she  held  out  her  hand  once  more  :  and  a 
minute  later  he  was  again  in  the  thick  of  the 
throng  circling  along  the  promenade. 

Before  he  reached  the  entrance  the  music  was 
checked  suddenly  and  the  trumpet  blared  out. 
and  then  the  voice  of  a  man  in  the  centre  of  the 
building  was  heard,  intermittently,  hopelessly 
endeavoring  to  inform  the  thousands  packed  in 
the  splendid  edifice  that  the  fastest  trotter  in  the 
world  would  now  be  shown.  The  crowd  which 
was  staring  steadily  at  the  men  and  women  in  the 
boxes  paid  little  attention  to  this  proclamation  ; 
to  it  the  men  and  women  in  the  boxes  were  far 
more  interesting  than  any  horses  could  be,  even 
if  any  one  of  these  could  trot  a  mile  in  two 
minutes  without  a  running  mate. 

(1695) 


'  ;~M 


tl  ®  fi!  £  :':  g   HI 


'" 


n    Me'    "atcfied    of 

tkc 


>T  was  still  snowing  solidly  as  the  car 
riage  swung  out  of  the  side  street 
and  went  heavily  on  its  way  up  the 
avenue  ;  the  large  flakes  soon  thick 
ened  again  upon  the  huge  fur  col 
lars  of  the  two  men  who  sat  on  the  box  bolt-up 
right  ;  the  flat  crystals  frosted  the  windows  of 
the  landau  so  that  the  trained  nurse  could  see 
out  only  on  one  side.  She  sat  back  in  the  lux 
urious  vehicle.  She  had  on  the  seat  beside  her 
the  bag  containing  her  change  of  raiment  ;  and 
she  wondered,  as  she  always  did  when  she  was 
called  unexpectedly  to  take  charge  of  an  un 
known  case,  what  manner  of  house  it  might  be 
that  she  was  going  to  enter,  and  what  kind  of 
people  she  would  be  forced  to  associate  with  in 
the  swift  intimacy  of  the  sick-room  and  for  an 
unknown  period.  That  the  patient  was  wealthy 
and  willing  to  spend  his  wealth  was  obvious  — 
the  carriage,  the  horses,  the  liveried  servants, 
were  evidence  enough  of  this.  That  his  name 
was  Swank  she  also  knew  :  and  she  thought  that 
perhaps  she  had  heard  about  the  marriage  of  a 
rich  old  man  named  Swank  to  a  pretty  young 
wife  a  year  or  two  ago.  That  he  had  been  taken 
sick  suddenly,  and  that  the  case  miirht  be  seri- 


OUTLINES    IN    LOCAL    COLOIl 

ous,  she  had  gathered  from  the  note  which  the 
doctor  had  sent  to  summon  her,  and  which  had 
been  brought  by  the  carriage  that  was  now  re 
turning  with  her. 

She  had  ample  time  for  speculation  as  they 
drove  up  the  avenue  in  the  early  darkness  of  the 
last  day  of  the  year.  The  Christmas  wreaths 
still  decked  the  windows  of  the  hotels,  although 
through  the  steady  snow  she  could  see  little  more 
than  a  blur  of  reddish-yellow  light  as  she  sped 
past.  There  were  few  people  in  the  avenue,  ex 
cept  as  they  crossed  the  broader  side  streets,  now 
beginning  to  be  filled  with  the  throng  of  work 
ers  returning  home  after  the  day's  labor.  They 
passed  St.  Patrick's  Cathedral,  already  encrusted 
with  snow  whiter  than  its  stone.  They  came  to 
Central  Park,  and  they  kept  on,  with  its  broad 
meadows  on  their  left  gray  in  the  descending 
darkness.  At  last  the  carriage  drew  up  before  a 
house  on  a  corner — a  very  large  house  it  seemed 
to  the  trained  nurse  ;  and  its  marble  front  struck 
her  as  cold,  not  to  call  it  gloomy.  AVorkmen 
wrere  hastily  erecting  the  frame  of  an  awning 
down  the  marble  steps,  and  a  path  had  been  made 
across  the  snowy  sidewalk. 

The  footman  carried  her  bag  up  the  stoop  and 
rang  the  bell  for  her. 

The  door  was  opened  promptly  by  a  very  Brit 
ish  butler. 

"  This  is  the  nurse  for  Mr.  Swank/'  said  the 
footman.  '''Is  he  anv  better  ?" 


IX   THE    WATCHES   OF   THE    NIGHT  223 

"'E's  about  the  same,  I'm  thinkinV  the  but 
ler  responded.  "  This  way,  please/7  he  said  to 
the  owner  of  the  bag,  which  the  footman  depos 
ited  just  inside  the  door.  "Til  take  you  up  to 
Mr.  Swank's  room,  and  I'll  send  your  bag  up  to 
you  afterwards." 

The  trained  nurse  followed  the  butler  up  the 
massive  wooden  stairs,  heavy  with  dark  carving. 
She  noticed  that  the  house  was  now  dimly  light 
ed,  and  that  there  was  a  going  and  a  coming  of 
servants,  as  though  in  preparation  for  an  enter 
tainment  of  some  sort. 

"AVe  'ave  a  dinner  on  this  evening,''  the  but 
ler  explained  ;  '*"  only  twenty-four  ;  but  it's  'ard 
Mr.  Swank  ain't  goin'  to  be  able  to  come  down. 
We're  keepin'  the  'ouse  dark  now,  so  it  won't  get 
too  *ot  at  dinner-time." 

Whatever  the  reason  for  the  absence  of  ade 
quate  illumination,  it  made  the  upper  hall  even 
more  dismal  than  the  one  below— so  the  trained 
nurse  thought. 

"  That's  Mr.  Swank's  room  there  ;  and  'ere's 
'is  dressin'-room,  that  you're  to  'ave — so  the  doc 
tor  said,"  the  butler  declared,  leading  the  stran 
ger  into  a  small  room  with  a  lofty  ceiling,  and 
with  one  window  overlooking  Central  Park.  The 
shades  had  not  been  drawn  ;  the  single  gas-jet 
was  burning  dimly ;  there  was  no  fireplace ;  and 
a  sofa  on  one  side  had  had  sheets  and  blankets 
put  on  it  to  serve  as  her  bed. 

She  almost  shivered,  the  place  seemed  to  her 


\ 

224  OUTLINES    IN    LOCAL    COLOR 

so  cheerless.  But  her  training  taught  her  not 
to  think  of  her  own  comfort. 

"This  will  do  very  well,"  she  asserted. 

"  I'll  tell  them  to  fetch  up  your  bag/'  the  but 
ler  said,  as  he  was  about  to  withdraw.  "Would 
you  be  wantin'  any  dinner  later  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  "I  would  like  some 
thing  to  eat  later — whenever  it  is  convenient/' 

The  butler  left  the  room,  only  to  reappear  al 
most  immediately. 

"'Ere's  the  doctor  now,"  he  announced,  hold 
ing  the  door  open. 

A  tall,  handsome  man,  with  a  masterful  mouth, 
walked  in  with  a  soft,  firm  tread. 

"So  this  is  the  nurse,"  he  began.  "Miss 
Clement,  isn't  it  ?  I'm  glad  you  were  able  to 
follow  my  note  so  quickly.  If  you  will  come 
into  the  next  room,  where  the  patient  is,  as  soon 
as  you  have  changed  your  dress,  I'll  tell  you 
what  I  wish  you  to  do." 

With  that  he  left  her;  and  in  less  than  ten 
minutes  she  followed  him  into  the  large  bedroom 
on  the  corner  of  the  house.  It  was  an  unusually 
spacious  room,  with  a  high  ceiling  and  four  tall 
windows, 

There  was  a  dull-red  fire,  which  seemed  insuf 
ficient  to  warm  even  the  elaborate  marble  mantel. 
Almost  in  one  corner  stood  a  large  bed,  with 
thick  curtains  draped  back  from  a  canopy. 

The  doctor  was  sitting  by  the  side  of  the  bed 
as  the  nurse  came  into  the  room. 


SHE     ALM( 


•HIVERED,    THE     PLACE 

so  CHEERLESS" 


EEMED    TO    HER 


IX    THE    WATCHES   OF   THE    XIGHT  225 

'•This  is  Miss  Clement,  Mr.  Swank/''  he  said, 
in  a  cheerful  voice,  to  the  old  man.  who  lay  in 
the  bed  motionless.  •'•'  She  will  look  after  you 
during  the  night." 

Mr.  Swank  made  no  answer,  but  he  opened  his 
eyes  and  looked  at  the  woman  who  had  come  to 
nurse  him.  She  used  to  say  afterwards  that  she 
had  never  felt  before  so  penetrating  a  gaze. 

The  doctor  turned  to  her.  and  in  the  same  pro 
fessionally  cheery  tones  he  said:  •'•"  I  sent  for  you, 
nurse,  because  Mrs.  Swank  has  an  important  din 
ner  to-night,  and  it  might  therefore  be  difficult 
for  her  to  give  Mr.  Swank  the  attention  he  may 
require.'" 

The  physician  was  addressing  the  nurse,  but  it- 
seemed  to  her  that  his  words  were  really  intend 
ed  for  the  patient,  whose  eyes  were  still  fixed  on 
her. 

All  at  once  the  sick  man  sat  up  in  bed  and 
began  to  cough  violently.  When  the  paroxysm 
had  passed  he  sank  back  on  the  pillow  again  and 
closed  his  eyes  wearily. 

"I  think  that  was  not  as  severe  as  the  last 
one,"  the  doctor  remarked  ;  •'•'  I  can  leave  3*011  in 
Miss  Clement's  hands  now.  Perhaps,  if  I  hap 
pen  to  be  up  this  way  about  midnight.  I  may  drop 
in  again  just  to  see  that  you  are  getting  on  all 
right.  In  the  mean  time,  nurse,  you  will  see  that 
he  takes  these  capsules  every  two  hours — he  had 
the  last  at  half-past  five.  And  you  will  take  his 
temperature  every  hour  if  he  is  awake." 


226  OUTLINES   IN    LOCAL   COLOR 

He  said  good-night  to  Mr.  Swank  in  the  same 
cheering  tone,  and  then  he  went  to  the  door. 
The  nurse  knew  that  she  was  to  follow  him. 

When  they  stood  alone  in  the  hall,  the  doctor 
said  to  her  :  "  If  there  is  any  change  in  the  pulse 
or  the  temperature,,  send  for  me  at  once.  King 
for  the  butler,  and  tell  him  I  am  to  be  sent  for ; 
he  will  know  what  to  do.  Mr.  Swank  has  influ 
enza  only,  but  his  heart  is  weak,  and  he  needs 
careful  attention.  I  shall  be  here  again  the  last 
thing  to-night." 

When  the  nurse  returned  to  the  corner  room 
the  patient  had  fallen  into  a  heavy  doze,  and  she 
took  advantage  of  this  to  prepare  for  the  long 
vigil.  She  arranged  her  own  belongings  ready 
to  her  hand  in  the  dressing-room  set  aside  for  her 
use.  In  that  room  she  did  not  lower  the  shade, 
and  she  even  stood  at  the  window  for  a  minute, 
trying  to  look  out  over  Central  Park,  hidden 
from  her  by  a  swaying  veil  of  swirling  snow.  The 
workmen  had  completed  the  canvas  tunnel  down 
the  stoop  to  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk,  and  the 
lanterns  hung  inside  the  frame -work  revealed 
grotesquely  its  striped  contortions.  As  the  nurse 
gazed  down  on  it  an  old  man  without  any  over 
coat  sought  a  temporary  shelter  from  the  storm 
in  the  mouth  of  the  awning,  only  to  be  ordered 
away  almost  immediately  by  the  servant  in  charge. 

The  nurse  went  back  into  the  larger  room. 
She  looked  at  her  patient  asleep  in  the  warm 
bed.  She  wondered  why  life  was  so  unequal ;  why 


IX    THE    WATCHES    OF   THE    XIGHT  227 

the  one  man  should  spend  the  night  in  the  snowy 
street,  while  the  other  had  all  that  money  could 
buy —  shelter,  warmth,  food,  attendance.  She 
recalled  how  her  father  used  to  declare  that  the 
inequalities  we  see  all  around  us  are  superficial 
only,  and  that  there  are  compensations,  did  we 
but  know  them,  for  all  deprivations,  and  that  all 
apparent  advantages  are  to  be  paid  for,  somehow, 
sooner  or  later.  More  than  ever  to-night  she 
doubted  the  wisdom  of  her  father's  saying.  How 
could  there  be  anything  but  inequality  between 
the  old  man  in  the  street  there  below  and  the  old 
man  here  in  the  bed  ?  The  thing  seemed  to  her 
impossible. 

As  she  became  accustomed  to  the  dim  light  of 
the  room  she  was  able  to  note  that  the  furniture 
was  heavy  and  black,  that  the  carpet  was  unusu 
ally  thick,  that  the  walls  had  large  paintings  hang 
ing  on  them,  that  the  ceiling  was  frescoed  in 
sombre  tints.  On  all  sides  of  her  she  saw  the 
evidences  of  wealth  and  of  the  willingness  to 
spend  it ;  and  yet  the  room  and  the  house  seemed 
to  her  strangely  uninviting,  and  almost  repellent. 
She  asked  herself  why  the  sick  man  lying  there 
asleep  in  the  huge  bed  had  not  used  his  money 
to  better  advantage,  and  had  not  at  least  made 
cheerful  his  own  sick-room.  Then  she  smiled  at 
her  own  foolishness.  Of  course  the  owner  of  the 
room  had  not  expected  to  be  stricken  down  ;  of 
course  he  had  no  thought  of  illness  when  he  had 
furnished. 


228  OUTLINES   IN    LOCAL   COLOR 

She  moved  gently  about  the  room  and  tried  to 
look  at  the  pictures,  but  the  illumination  was  in 
sufficient.  All  that  she  could  make  out  clearly 
were  the  names  of  the  artists  carved  on  tiny  tab 
lets  attached  to  the  broad  frames' ;  and  although 
she  knew  little  about  painting,  she  had  read  the 
newspapers  enough  to  be  aware  that  pictures  by 
these  artists  must  have  cost  a  great  deal  of  mon 
ey — thousands  of  dollars  each,  very  likely.  If 
sire  had  thousands  to  spend,  she  believed  that 
she  could  lay  them  out  to  better  advantage  than 
the  owner  of  the  house  had  done  here.  It  struck 
her  again  as  though  the  sick  man  had  more  than 
his  share  of  the  good  things  of  life.  She  had 
not  yet  heard  him  speak,  and  she  had  not  really 
had  a  good  look  at  him  ;  but  she  could  not 
help  thinking  that  a  man  who  had  so  much,  who 
had  the  means  of  doing  so  much,  who  was  ab 
solutely  his  own  master,  and  who  could  spend 
a  large  fortune  just  as  he  pleased — she  could  not 
help  thinking  that  he  ought  to  be  happy.  It 
was  true  that  he  was  ill  now,  but  the  influenza 
wears  itself  out  at  last ;  and  when  he  was  well 
he  had  so  much  money  that  he  must  be  happier 
than  other  men — far  happier  than  poor  men,  cer 
tainly. 

When  she  came  to  this  conclusion  she  was 
standing  near  the  foot  of  the  bed,  looking  at  the 
man  lying  there  asleep.  It  was  on  the  stroke  of 
half-past  seven,  and  she  had  come  to  let  him 
have  his  medicine  again.  Then  she  noticed  that 


IX   THE    WATCHES   OF   THE    XIGHT  229 

his  eyelids  were  parted,  and  that  he  was  looking 
at  her. 

"  It  is  time  to  take  one  of  these  capsules  now/' 
she  said,  gently  moving  to  his  side  and  offering 
it  to  him. 

He  took  it  without  a  word,  and  gulped  it  down 
with  a  swallow  of  water.  Then  he  sank  back  on 
the  pillow,  only  to  raise  himself  at  once,  as  he 
was  again  shaken  by  a  severe  fit  of  coughing. 

At  last  he  lay  back  on  the  bed  once  more,  still 
breathing  heavily. 

Afresh,  young  voice  was  heard  at  the  door  lead 
ing  to  the  hall,  saying,  "May  I  come  in.  John  ?*' 
and  then  a  graceful  young  figure  floated  into  the 
room  with  a  birdlike  motion. 

The  sick  man  opened  his  eyes  wide  as  his  wife 
came  near  him,  and  a  smile  illumined  his  face. 

"  How  beautiful  you  are  !"  he  said,  faintly, 
but  proudly. 

"  Am  I  ?v  she  answered,  laughing  a  little.  "  I 
tried  to  be  to-night,  because  there  will  be  the 
smartest  women  in  Xew  York  at  Mrs.  Jimmy 
Suydam's  dance,  and  I  wanted  to  be  as  good  as 
any  of  them." 

The  nurse  had  withdrawn  towards  the  window 
as  the  wife  came  forward,  and  she  did  not  believe 
that  any  woman  at  Mrs.  Jimmy  Suydam's,  wher 
ever  that  might  be.  could  well  look  more  beauti 
ful  than  the  one  who  now  stood  smiling  by  the 
side  of  the  sick  husband. 

She  was  a  blonde,  this  voung  wife  of  an  old 


230         OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

man,  a  mere  girl,  and  the  vaporous  blue  dress 
was  cut  low  on  a  slender  neck  girt  about  by  a 
single  strand  of  large  pearls,  while  a  diamond 
tiara  high  on  her  shapely  head  flashed  light  into 
every  corner  of  the  darkened  sick-room. 

"I  thought  I'd  just  run  in  and  see  how  you 
were  before  anybody  came,"  she  said,  lightly. 
"Dinner  is  at  quarter  to  eight,  you  know.  I 
do  wish  you  could  be  down.  AVe  shall  miss  you 
dreadfully.  Of  course  I  sent  out  at  the  last  min 
ute  and  got  a  man  to  fill  your  place,  so  we  shall 
sit  down  with  twenty-four  all  right ;  but  then- 
Here  she  broke  off,  having  caught  sight  of  the 
third  person  in  the  room. 

"So  this  is  the  nurse  Dr.  Cheever  sent  for  ?" 
she  went  on.  "  I'm  sure  she'll  take  good  care  of 
you,  John — the  doctor  is  always  so  careful.  And 
if  you  hadn't  had  somebody  with  you  I  shouldn't 
have  liked  to  leave  you  all  alone  —  really  I 
shouldn't  !" 

With  that  she  circled  about  the  bed  again, 
turning  towards  the  door. 

"  I  must  be  off  now,"  she  explained.  "  I  can't 
be  wasting  my  time  on  you  in  this  way.  I  really 
ought  to  be  down  in  the  drawing-room  now  ; 
and  first,  I've  got  to  see  if  the  flowers  are  all 
right  on  the  table." 

Her  husband's  eyes  had  followed  her  wistfully 
about  the  room,  watching  every  one  of  her  easy 
and  graceful  movements  ;  and  when  at  last  she 
slipped  out  of  the  door,  it  was  a  moment  before 


IX    THE    WATCHES    OF   THE    NIGHT  231 

he  turned  an  inquiring  glance  on  the  nurse,  as 
though  to  discover  what  she  thought  of  the  bril 
liant  vision. 

The  nurse  came  to  the  side  of  the  bed  with 
her  clinical  thermometer  in  her  hand. 

"  You  are  awake  now,"  she  said,  with  a  pleas 
ant  smile.  "  May  I  take  your  temperature  ?" 

Five  minutes  later,  when  she  was  entering  in 
her  note -book  the  high  degree  shown  by  the 
thermometer,  and  when  the  patient  had  again 
dropped  off  to  sleep,  the  first  guests  began  to  ar 
rive  for  the  wife's  dinner  party. 

The  thick  snow  made  the  wheels  inaudible, 
but  the  nurse  heard  the  doors  of  the  carriages 
slam  as  those  who  had  been  invited  passed 
through  the  canvas  tunnel  one  after  another. 
In  the  room  next  to  the  dressing-room  assigned 
to  her  for  her  own  use  there  was  a  rustling  of 
silken  stuffs,  and  there  were  fragments  of  con 
versation  now  and  again  so  loudly  pitched  as  to 
reach  the  ear  of  the  young  woman  who  sat  silent 
in  the  sick-chamber.  Then,  when  all  the  guests 
were  come,  the  house  sank  again  into  silence, 
and  a  tall  clock  in  a  corner  of  the  stairs  chimed 
forth  the  hour  of  eight. 

So  long  as  her  patient  slept  the  nurse  had 
little  or  nothing  to  do  :  but  though  her  body 
was  motionless,  her  thoughts  were  busy.  She  was 
country  -  bred  herself  :  she  had  left  her  home 
in  a  little  Xew  England  village  by  the  sea  to 
make  her  wav  in  the  world.  She  had  now  been  a 


232  OUTLINES    IN    LOCAL   COLOR 

trained  nurse  for  nearly  two  years  ;  and  yet,  as 
it  happened,  her  work  had  been  either  in  hotels 
or  in  families  of  only  moderate  means.  This 
was  the  first  time  she  had  been  in  so  handsome 
a  house  or  with  people  of  so  much  wealth.  She 
could  not  help  being  conscious  of  her  surround 
ings,  and  she  caught  herself  wishing  that  she  too 
were  rich.  She  confessed  that  she  would  like 
to  be  a  guest  at  the  dinner  below.  She  wonder 
ed  what  a  dinner-table  for  twenty-four  must  be. 
To  be  able  to  entertain  as  lavishly  as  that,  and 
not  to  have  to  worry  about  the  arrangement,  or 
the  cost,  or  anything  —  well,  that  would  be  an 
existence  any  woman  must  delight  in.  She  felt 
herself  capable  of  expanding,  and  of  being  equal 
to  the  enjoyment  of  any  degree  of  luxury.  She 
liked  her  occupation,  for  she  had  chosen  her  own 
calling.  She  had  been  successful  in  it  too  ;  and 
yet  she  was  beginning  to  be  a  little  afraid  that 
she  had  miscalculated  her  strength.  The  work 
was  very  laborious  and  confining,  and  more  than 
once  of  late  she  had  felt  overtaxed.  It  might 
be  that  in  a  year  or  two  her  reserve  force  would 
be  exhausted,  and  she  would  have  to  give  up  the 
struggle  and  go  back  home,  where  she  would  be 
welcome,  of  course,  but  where  she  would  add  to 
the  burdens  her  mother  was  already  laden  with. 
There  was  an  alternative,  and  never  before 
had  it  seemed  to  her  so  tempting  as  when  she 
was  sitting  there  alone  with  the  sick  man  in  the 
darkened  corner  room  of  his  jn-eat  house.  She 


IX    THE    WATCHES    OF    THE    XIGHT  233 

might  marry.  More  than  once  she  had  been 
asked  in  marriage  ;  and  one  man  had  asked  her 
more  than  once.  He  was  persistent,  and  he  still 
declined  to  accept  her  refusal  as  final.  He  was 
not  an  old  man  yet,  although  he  was  twice  her 
age.  He  was  a  rich  man,  even  if  he  was  not  as 
wealthy  as  the  owner  of  the  splendid  hut  de 
pressing  home  where  she  now  sat  silently  mus 
ing.  She  did  not  love  him,  that  was  true,  and 
there  was  no  doubt  about  it  ;  but  she  did  respect 
him,  and  she  had  heard  that  sometimes  love 
comes  after  marriage.  He  could  let  her  have 
all  she  longed  for,  and  he  was  ready  to  give  her 
everything  he  had.  If  she  married  him  she  too 
could  have  dinners  of  twenty -four,  and  wear  a 
rope  of  pearls  and  a  diamond  tiara  ;  and  then, 
too,  she  could  do  so  much  good  with  money  if 
sJie  had  it. 

In  the  course  of  her  services  in  the  hospital, 
and  afterwards  among  the  poor,  she  had  seen 
many  a  case  of  sore  distress  which  she  had  been 
unable  to  relieve.  If  she  had  riches  she  could 
accomplish  much  that  was  now  impossible  ;  she 
could  do  good  in  many  ways  ;  she  could  relieve 
suffering  and  aid  the  impoverished  and  help  the 
feeble  far  more  adroitly  and  skilfully  than  could 
any  woman  who  had  always  been  wealthy,  and 
who  had  not  had  her  experience  of  life  and  of 
its  misfortunes  and  its  miseries.  She  thought 

O 

that  she  knew  her  own  character,  and  she  be 
lieved  that  she  had  strength  to  withstand  the 


234        OUTLINES  IX  LOCAL  COLOK 

temptations  which  beset  the  rich.  Thinking 
herself  unselfish,  she  held  herself  incapable  of 
keeping  for  herself  alone  any  good  fortune  that 
might  come  to  her.  And  she  made  a  solemn 
resolve  that  if  she  should  marry  the  man  who 
stood  ready  to  take  her  to  wife  she  would  devote 
to  good  works  the  greater  part  of  her  money  and 
of  her  time.  She  would  dress  as  became  her  sta 
tion,  of  course,  and  she  would  entertain  sumptu 
ously  too  ;  but  no  old  man  should  ever  be  turned 
shivering  from  her  door  when  she  was  giving  a 
dinner  of  twenty-four. 

Her  re  very  was  interrupted  half  a  dozen  times 
by  the  fits  of  coughing  "which  shook  her  patient, 
and  which  seemed  to  her  to  become  more  and 
more  frequent  and  more  violent.  At  half-past 
nine  she  gave  him  his  medicine  again,  and  took 
his  temperature  once  more.  Then  she  made  up 
the  fire,  which  burned  badly  ;  and  she  straight 
ened  the  sheets  on  his  bed,  and  turned  the 
pillows. 

He  soon  sank  to  slumber  again,  breathing  heav 
ily  arid  turning  uneasily  in  his  sleep.  The  house 
was  singularly  still,  and  no  sound  of  the  dinner 
party  below  reached  the  nurse  in  the  corner  room 
above.  When  she  happened  to  go  into  the  dress 
ing-room  she  found  there  awaiting  her  a  tray 
with  several  dishes  from  the  dinner  table.  She 
was  glad  to  have  something  to  eat,  and  she  sat 
down  by  the  window  to  enjoy  it.  The  thick,  soft 
snow  had  silenced  nearly  all  the  usual  street 


IX    THE    WATCHES    OF   THE    XIGHT  235 

sounds.  The  carriages  that  went  up  and  down 
the  avenue  were  as  inaudible  as  though  they 
were  rolling  on  felt.  But  sleighing  parties  be 
came  more  frequent,  and  she  found  a  suggestion 
of  pleasant  companionship  and  of  human  activi 
ty  in  the  jingle  of  the  bells.  Once  a  tire-engine 
sped  swiftly  past  the  house,  its  usual  roar  dead 
ened  by  the  heavy  snow,  and  its  whistle  shrill 
ing  forth  as  it  neared  the  side  streets,  one  after 
another;  ten  minutes  later  it  came  slowly  back. 
The  nurse  was  glad  that  there  was  only  a  false 
alarm,  for  she  knew  how  terrible  a  fire  would  be 
in  a  crowded  tenement-house  on  such  a  night. 

She  finished  her  belated  dinner  a  few  minutes 
after  the  deep  tones  of  the  clock  in  the  hall  had 
told  her  that  it  was  ten,  and  that  there  were  left 
of  the  old  year  but  two  hours  more.  Except 
when  the  sick  man  waked  with  a  cough,  the  next 
hour  was  wholly  eventless. 

And  yet.  when  it  had  drawn  to  an  end.  the 
nurse  thought  that  it  would  count  in  her  life  as 
important  beyond  most  others,  for  it  was  be 
tween  ten  and  eleven  that  she  made  up  her  mind 
to  marry  the  rich  man  who  wanted  her  for  his 
wife,  and  whom  she  did  not  love.  The  reso 
lution  once  determined,  she  let  her  mind  play 
about  the  possibilities  of  the  future.  She  would 
not  be  married  till  the  spring,  of  course,  and 
they  would  go  to  Europe  for  their  wedding-trip. 
Then,  in  the  fall,  she  would  persuade  him  to 
move  to  Xew  York.  He  was  fond  of  his  own 


236        OUTLINES  IN  LOCAL  COLOR 

town,  but  he  would  get  used  to  the  city  in  time  ; 
and  they  could  buy  a  new  house,  overlooking 
Central  Park — perhaps  in  the  same  neighbor 
hood  as  the  one  where  she  was  sitting  in  the 
hazy  light  of  the  sick-room.  She  smiled  uncon 
sciously  as  she  found  herself  wondering  whether 
her  patient's  beautiful  young  wife  would  call  on 
her  if  she  purchased  the  house  next  door. 

It  was  a  little  after  eleven  o'clock  when  she 
again  heard  a  rustling  of  silken  stuffs  in  the  room 
by  the  side  of  hers,  followed  shortly  by  the  voice 
of  the  servant  in  the  street  below  calling  the  car 
riages  of  the  departing  guests.  But  some  of  the 
diners  still  lingered,  for  it  was  nearly  half  an 
hour  later  before  the  door  of  the  sick-room 
opened  and  the  sick  man's  wife  came  gliding 
in  again  with  her  languorous  grace. 

He  fixed  his  eyes  upon  her  at  once,  and  smiled 
with  contentment  as  she  came  towards  him. 

"You've  been  asleep,  haven't  you  ?"  she  be 
gan.  "  I'm  so  glad,  for  of  course  that's  so  good 
for  you.  We  all  missed  you  down -stairs,  and 
everybody  asked  about  you  and  said  they  were 
so  sorry  you  were  not  there.  You  must  hurry 
up  and  get  well ;  and  I'll  give  another  dinner 
like  this,  for  it  was  a  great  success.  The  flowers 
were  superb — and  I  don't  think  any  of  the  wom 
en  had  a  handsomer  gown  than  I  did.  And  I 
know  all  of  them  together  hadn't  as  elegant  dia 
monds.  I  don't ,  believe  anybody  at  the  dance 
will  have  as  many  either." 


IX    THE    WATCHES   OF   THE   XIGHT  237 

"  Sit  down  by  me  here  and  tell  me  all  about 
the  dinner,"  said  the  sick  husband. 

"Oh,  I  can't  wait  now,"  the  young  wife  an 
swered.  •'•' I  must  be  off  at  once.  I've  simply 
got  to  be  there  in  time  to  see  the  old  year  out 
and  the  new  year  in.  They  say  Mrs.  Jimmy  has 
a  surprise  for  us,  and  nobody  at  dinner  had  the 
slightest  idea  what  it  could  possibly  be  V 

"  Are  you  going  to  the  dance  to-night  ?"  asked 
the  man  in  the  bed  ;  and  the  nurse  saw  the  plead 
ing  look  in  his  eyes,  even  if  his  wife  failed  to 
perceive  it. 

"Of  course  I  am,"  was  the  wife's  reply.  "I 
wouldn't  miss  it  for  anything.  I  think  it's  a 
lovely  idea  to  have  a  dance  on  Xew-Year's  Eve. 
don't  you  ?  I  do  wish  you  were  well  enough  to 
go.  and  I'm  certain  sure  Mrs.  Jimmy  will  ask 
about  you — she's  always  *o  polite.  You  won't 
miss  me — you  will  be  asleep  again  in  five  min 
utes,  won't  you  ?*' 

"  Perhaps."  he  answered,  still  clinging  to  her 
fingers.  "I'll  try  to  sleep.*'' 

"  That's  right."  she  responded,  withdrawing 
her  hand  and  going  towards  the  door.  "  I'll 
trust  you  to  the  nurse.  She'll  take  better  care 
of  you  than  I  should,  I'm  afraid.  I  never  was 
any  good  when  people  were  sick.  Xow  good 
bye.  I  do  hope  you'll  be  better  when  I  get  back. 
I'll  come  in  and  say  good-night,  of  course.  I 
sha'n't  be  late,  either — I'll  be  home  by  three — 
or  before  four,  anyway.'9 


238  OUTLINES    IN    LOCAL    COLOK 

And  with  that  she  glided  away,  smiling  back 
at  her  husband  as  she  left  the  room.  He  fol 
lowed  her  with  his  eyes,  and  he  gazed  at  the 
door  fixedly  after  she  had  gone.  There  was  a 
hungry  look  in  his  face,  so  it  seemed  to  the 
nurse,  as  of  one  starving  in  the  midst  of  plenty. 
With  the  vain  hope  that  the  vision  of  beauty 
might  yet  return,  he  lay  silent,  but  listening 
intently,  until  he  heard  the  sharp  slam  of  the 
carriage  doors.  Then  he  relaxed  and  turned 
restlessly  in  bed. 

It  was  then  half -past  eleven,  and  the  nurse 
took  his  temperature  and  administered  another 
capsule,  as  the  doctor  had  ordered.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  he  was  more  feverish  and  that  he 
was  coughing  more  frequently  ;  and  even  as  she 
saw  the  patient  sink  into  a  broken  sleep,  she 
wished  that  the  physician  would  come  soon. 

The  arrival  of  the  doctor  was  delayed  till  a 
few  minutes  before  midnight,  and  the  nurse  had 
time  to  reconsider,  once  and  forever,  her  deci 
sion  to  marry  for  money  and  Avithout  love.  Her 
mind  had  been  made  up  slowly  and  with  great 
deliberation  ;  it  was  unmade  suddenly  and  un 
hesitatingly  and  irrevocably.  It  Avas  the  sight 
of  the  mute  pleading  in  the  sick  man's  eyes 
which  made  her  change  her  mind.  After  see 
ing  that  look  she  felt  that  it  would  be  impos 
sible  for  her  to  make  a  loveless  marriage — not 
for  her  own  sake  only,  but  also  for  the  sake  of 
the  man  she  should  marry.  If  he  loved  her  and 


IX    THE    WATCHES    OF   THE    XIGHT  239 

she  did  not  love  him,  there  would  be  no  fair  ex 
change  ;  she  would  be  cheating  him.  When  she 
beheld  clearly  the  meaning  of  the  transaction 
her  honesty  revolted.  She  had  refused  to  marry 
him  more  than  once,  and  now  her  refusal  was 
final. 

She  stood  for  a  moment  at  the  window  and 
looked  out.  The  snow  had  ceased  falling,  and 
there  was  already  a  clearing  of  the  clouds,  which 
let  the  moonlight  pierce  them  fitfully.  The 
wind  blew  steadily  across  the  broad  meadows  of 
the  Park,  bending  the  whitened  skeletons  of  the 
trees. 

Three  immense  sleighs  filled  with  a  joyous 
and  laughing  party  went  down  the  avenue, 
bandying  songs  from  one  sleigh  to  the  other. 
A  horn  was  tooted  repeatedly  in  one  of  the  side 
streets,  and  there  were  louder  and  more  fre 
quent  whistles  from  the  river  craft  on  both  sides 
of  the  city.  A  pistol  -shot  rang  out  now  and 
again.  It  was  almost  midnight  on  the  last  day 
of  the  old  year  :  and  the  new  year  was  to  be 
greeted  with  the  customary  chorus  of  wild  noises. 

As  the  nurse  turned  from  the  window  the 
doctor  entered  the  room.  She  made  her  report 
briefly,  and  she  told  him  that  the  old  man's 
cough  was  worse,  and  that  he  seemed  weaker. 

While  they  were  standing  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed.  the  patient  was  seized  with  another  par 
oxysm.  He  sat  up.  shaken  by  the  violent  effort 
— far  more  violent  than  any  that  had  preceded 


240  OUTLINES    IX    LOCAL    COLOK 

it.  He  seemed  to  struggle  vainly  for  relief,  and 
then  he  dropped  back  limply  on  the  pillows. 
The  physician  was  at  his  side  instantly,  and  laid 
a  hand  on  his  heart.  There  was  a  moment  of 
silence,  and  the  clock  on  the  stairs  began  to 
strike  twelve,  its  chimes  mingling  with  the  up 
roar  made  by  the  pistols  and  the  horns  and  the 
steam-whistles  out-doors. 

"  That's  what  I  was  afraid  of/'  said  the  doc 
tor  at  last.  "I  suspected  that  he  had  fatty  de 
generation  of  the  heart." 

"  Is  he— is  he  dead  ?"  asked  the  nurse. 

"Yes,  he  is  dead." 

But  it  was  not  for  five  or  ten  minutes  that  the 
shrill  noises  outside  ceased. 

(1895) 


THE    END 


BY   MARY   E.  WILKIXS 


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England  country  character,  with  the  skill  aiid  deftness  of"  one  who 
knows  it  through  and  through,  and  yet  never  forgets  that,  while  real 
istic,  she  is  tirst  and  hist  an  artist. Boston  Advertiser. 

Miss  \Vilkius  has  attained  an  eminent  position  among  her  literary 
contemporaries  as  one  of  the  most  careful,  natural,  and  effective 
writers  of  brief  dramatic  incident.  Few  surpass  her  in  expressing  the 
homely  pathos  of  the  poor  ajid  ignorant,  while  the  humor  of  her  =tories 
is  quiet.  |»ervasive,  and  suggestive — Philadel phi a  Press. 

It  takes  just  such  distinguished  literary  ;irt  as  Mary  E  Wilkins  pos 
sesses  to  give  an  episode  of  New  England  its  soul,  pathos  and  poetrv 
—A".  Y.  Times. 

The  pathos  of  Xew  England  life,  its  intensities  of  repressed  feelin^ 
its  homely  tragedies,  and  its  tender  humor,  have  never  been  better 
told  than  by  Mary  E.  Wilkins. — Boston  Courier. 

The  simplicity,  purity,  and  quamtness  of  these  stories  set  them  apart 
in  a  niche  of  distinction  where  thev  Lave  no  rivals  — Literary  World 
Boston. 

The  charm  of  Miss  Wilkins's  stories  is  in  her  intimate  acquaintance 
and  comprehension  of  humble  life,  and  the  sweet  human  interest  she 
feels  and  makes  her  readers  p-srtake  of.  in  the  simple,  common  homely 
people  she  draws.— Springfield  Republican. 

Studies  from  real  life  which  must  be  the  result  of  a  lifetime  of  pa 
tient,  sympathetic  observation.  .  .  .  Xo  one  has  done  the  same  kind  of 
work  so  lovingly  and  so  well.—  Christian  Register  Boston 


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The  portrayal  of  nature  alone  would  give  tlie  book  high  rank, 
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He  has  an  irresistible  theme,  and  he  writes  irresistibly.  ,  .  .  The  ro 
mance  has  the  ring  of  Mr.  Du  Manner's  best  romancing;  the  simple,  almost 
naive,  admiration  of  the  boys  Cor  Harly  shows  the  author  as  we  have 
known  him  in  his  highest  estate— true,  wise,  free  from  the  slightest 
suspicion  of  sentimentality  or  cant.  "The  Martian"  opens  again  the 
portals  of  his  delightful  world,  the  story  revives  the  tenderness,  the 
sweetness,  the  original  magic  which  many  readers  have  feared  could 
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delightful  play  of  every  lively  fancy,  all  running  so  briskly  in  exquisite 
English,  and  with  such  vivid  dramatic  picturing,  that  it  is  only  compara 
ble  ...  to  the  freshness  and  beauty  of  a  spring  morning  at  the  end  of  a 
dragging  winter.  ...  A  thoroughly  unique  story.— N.  Y.  Sun. 

PETER  IBBETSON.  With  an  Introduction  by  his 
Cousin,  Lady*  *  *  *  ("Madge  Plunket").  Edited 
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subject  is  unworthy,  the  comedy  sparkling,  and  the  tragedy,  as  we  have 

said,  inevitable.—  N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

ENGLISH  SOCIETY.  Sketched  by  GEORGE  DU  MAU 
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14  DAY  USE 

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